The Fire Queen
by mistopurr
Summary: Lost and alone, young Prince Thranduil becomes entangled in a web of lies, betrayal and hurt designed to steal his innocence and taint his heart forever. The truth will set him free. But how can he find peace when the truth is what holds him prisoner?
1. Stained in Blood

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters you recognise from Tolkien's universe. All OC's belong to me and are creations of my mind. No profit is being made from this story.

**Timeline: **This is the third instalment in a series revolving around Legolas and his family's history, set around SA 780. It follows on from 'To Begin Again' and 'Choice of the Trees', and is set just a few years after the latter. There might be some minor references to events in the two previous stories, but you don't have to read them to understand this one. There are also a number of characters in this story who were introduced in the first one and had parts in the second, but again, there isn't really any need to read those stories in order to get the OC's and who they are.

**Warnings: **This is where things start changing. The first two stories were pretty light in terms of the angst factor, but there is a lot of it now. There will be pain, tears, blood and themes of a mature nature in later chapters. Now let's get on with the story!

**Chapter 1**

Open books lay half-buried amidst blades of grass that swayed in a gentle breeze, surrounded by scrolls and pieces of parchment, quills and a bottle of black ink. It was early summer, and the yellow rays beating down from high in a perfect sky unmarred by clouds were pleasantly warm. A young Elf garbed in forest shades tilted his head back to feel the full force of the sun upon his flawless skin. He had spent all morning with his eyes lowered, and every fleeting reprieve from his work was eagerly taken. The lessons he undertook outside beneath the boughs of the trees he had come to love over the last few years were far preferable to the dull ones spent behind stone walls, but being forced to study as birds flew freely overhead and woodland stretched for miles all around was not an easy task. His mind wandered through the forest at regular intervals, and it was a long suffering sigh from his tutor or a warning look from a pair of deep brown eyes which would pull him back to reality with a sharp bump.

Those hazel pools were fixed upon him as he basked in the sunlight, but it was not disapproval or sternness in the teacher's gaze. Instead he wore only amusement, and coughed quietly to redirect his wayward student's attention. "My Prince, the sky will be the same when we have finished our lesson. You will have the whole afternoon to yourself. Might I have your focus a few moments longer to return your corrected work?"

Smiling guiltily, the heir to the throne of Greenwood the Great turned his face away from the warmth and nodded reluctant acquiescence. "Of course, Maethor. I am sorry for allowing myself to become distracted again, but you should know better by now than to let me study out here. I never can concentrate on a fine day."

"So I have seen. I must say that I expected something different from you in our last lesson together, but my hopes have been dashed. Never mind," the Silvan Elf sighed. "Now, would you have the good report first or the less flattering? We shall start with the second, get it over with and out of the way. Thranduil, your mathematical skills are not the best I have seen in my career as a private tutor. As demonstrated in this number exercise here, you would benefit from additional studies in your own time." He paused and held out a piece of parchment decorated with crossed out scribbling and a multitude of corrections. "However, you make up for that inaptitude with writing skills, an ability to memorise history and a keen willingness to learn. Your latest work – after the numbers, of course – proves your capability with both the Elven language and Common Tongue. You have done well in that respect."

"Are you trying to tell me I am a good student or a bad one?" Thranduil asked slowly.

"You are a fair student with room for improvement," Maethor replied. A small smile passed across his fair face, and he began to tidy away the learning materials laid out on the grass. "Unfortunately, that improvement will not be conceived with my help. Have you been told yet if the King and Queen have chosen you a new tutor?"

Biting on his lower lip, the blond haired boy shook his head carefully. "No. I thought of asking, but neither of them has mentioned my lessons at all other than to enquire after my progress. Do you not think that strange? They know your wife is having a child soon and that you are giving up your work to spend the first few years of the baby's life with it, so why would they say nothing?"

"Prince Thranduil..."

"Yes?"

"You did give your father the letter I gave you three weeks ago," Maethor said quietly. "Please say that it is not lying somewhere on your floor or underneath your bed."

Wide blue eyes turned towards the tutor at those words, and again Thranduil's head shook, this time much more violently than before. "What? You took it back! You gave me the letter during a lesson but you took it back because when I got to the palace it was not in my pocket and I could not find it anywhere else. I assumed that you had decided to see my father yourself because you thought I might forget or deliberately not pass on the letter."

"I would have been right in such an assumption." Pushing a hand through the brown hair hanging loose over his shoulders, the tutor released a sharp exhalation of breath and got to his feet. "Come with me. Hopefully the King will be free enough to speak with us now so that I might explain this utter debacle and try to convince him to let me finish my teaching duties today to be there for the birth of my first child. I told you he needed three weeks' notice to find you a new teacher. Why do you think I wrote the letter and put it in your hands with specific instructions what to do with it _three weeks _before I wished to end our lessons together?"

"You took it back," Thranduil reiterated as he followed the older Elf along a forest path which led to the palace. "I know that-

"This is not the end I wanted," Maethor broke in sharply. "Do not make it worse."

Sighing quietly, the Prince took heed of the words and was silent for the rest of their quick journey. It was not the end he had hoped for either. He could remember the long weeks of studying with a number of different tutors to find the one who had the best influence upon his work; he could recall too the eventual decision by King Oropher and Queen Felith that the newly trained teacher with the least amount of experience had improved their only child's education after just a few hours together and taught him at a higher standard than any other. The winning argument had been voiced by Thranduil's mother. He and Maethor got on well with each other, and that had to be a deciding factor in such an important choice. Even now, two years on, it was still true. He liked his tutor and found himself often more eager to please him than most others. It would indeed be a shame to finish their time on such a poor note.

As they reached the palace and home to the royal family which stood upon the treeless hill of Amon Lanc, Thranduil bit on his lip. Whilst no young Elf enjoyed trouble, his dislike for it was great. Since taking the crown and accepting the rule of Greenwood, Oropher had changed both as a husband and father. Where once he had been warm and full of adoration for his wife and son, it was as though physical affection had suddenly fled his abilities, replaced by a constant demand for the very best and an intolerance for anything that could cast a shadow over his kingship. He was hard and strict, and although he knew full well that the love he held for his only child was limitless if not openly displayed, the youth in question was secretly doubtful of the fact, something that often became the cause of many an argument between the two.

"Here we are," Maethor murmured as they reached the door which hid the King's office. "Let me speak with him. Perhaps I can salvage this situation _and _save you from his anger."

Thranduil nodded without a word as the older immortal knocked on one of the wooden panels and stepped into the room at the short command which came in reply. That was fine by him. There was less chance of landing in hot water if another was acting in his defence. He followed his tutor inside and stopped before the large work desk, bowing his head to Oropher with a subdued gaze fixed upon the floor. He knew that his father would expect the worst; he knew too that the bright green eyes of the monarch would be narrowed in suspicion as Maethor explained the misunderstanding. To his credit, the teacher did a commendable job of protecting his student and telling the story as though it truly were his own fault, but the King of Greenwood the Great was no fool. Raising one hand for silence, he leaned forwards and fixed the other Elf with those piercing emerald pools.

"Thank you. I see the worries you are faced with in light of this lost letter, but you need not fear," he said quietly. "I could have done with the notice, but it cannot be helped. Your dismissal would have been granted for today. Take it. Go home to your wife. I wish you the very best with your new child, and hope that the birth is without complication. If you need anything, only ask and I will help you."

"Your Highness, that is more than generous of you," Maethor replied, softly stunned. "You are willing to let me leave your employ without the appropriate resignation letter?"

"I have said so. Now, if you please. It would seem my son's lessons have not yet finished. Clearly he needs to be taught responsibility for items passed into his keeping by others." Oropher's voice was cool, and he shook his dark head to halt imminent protests from the tutor. After receiving a bow he was wisely left alone with his only child, a fact which made the boy's blue eyes flicker fearfully. "I would ask what you were thinking, but I see through you as easily as a sheet of glass. You purposefully hid the letter or destroyed it to avoid a few weeks of lessons whilst I search for a new teacher. That shows cunning and intelligence, but you did not plan this far ahead. What have you to say for yourself now that you have been caught?"

Thranduil shifted slightly, raising his gaze from where it rested upon the floor to meet his father's hard one. "I have to say that... You are wrong. You think you can see through me, but your eyes are deceived-

"Do not!" Oropher's hand came down atop the desk with resounding force, and the papers and quills littering its surface had not settled as he rose sharply and strode around the other side to tightly grip the child's shoulders. "Do not dare to address me with such insolence in your voice, because you will regret it. Stop hiding behind a useless defence. You did wrong, you acted without thought or consideration and you _will _accept the consequences for this. Luckily for you I have an appointment in ten minutes that I cannot avoid, but you will get out of my sight now and wait for me in your room. You shall be dealt with later."

"I did not have the letter," Thranduil said quietly.

"Stop that," Oropher warned. "Go."

Aware of the hammering of his heart against his chest, the young Prince's eyes fell towards the floor once more. "Ada... If you are to punish me, please don't make me wait for it. Please don't-

"Go!"

Thranduil spun on his heel and beat a hasty retreat, leaving the study at a run and pulling the door shut behind him with an echoing slam. He went swiftly down the corridor until he was a safe enough distance away to slow, which he did with a miserable exhalation of breath. Once upon a time, facing his father's wrath and awaiting the consequences of such anger would have brought tears to his eyes, but he had since become accustomed to a strict upbringing, albeit reluctantly. It had not always been that way. There was a time when Oropher would rather lose a hand than raise even his voice to the child, but everything had changed so very drastically in the months after he had been crowned as Greenwood's ruler. It was unfair that the close bond between father and son had frayed so much in just a short time, but Thranduil knew full well that thinking on the injustice would never solve anything.

As the boy passed a floor length wall hanging concealing a wide alcove just a short distance from the royal wing, a hand snaked out from behind it and fingers curled in the back of his tunic. He pulled himself free before his captor could drag him anywhere, and ducked underneath the tapestry to glare at the pair of Elves grinning at him. "Don't do that," he snapped. "All you had to do was cough or stick your foot out so I could know you were here. Idiots."

The tallest youth was a few immortal years older than the other two, and he calmly regarded the Prince through eyes like glittering jade, easily ignoring the fiery gaze fixed upon him. "Well. That was very rude." Although some thinly styled braids dangled over his shoulder, for the most part the child's auburn hair was worn loose and free. He reached up to casually flick a stray lock from his face, and gave a small shrug. "I see His Royal Highness is miserable today. What has upset you, Your Majesty? No berries for breakfast? A chore you must do yourself?"

"Be _quiet_, Linwë," Thranduil snapped. "And don't you laugh, Veassen. Don't encourage him."

Hiding a smile, the smaller of the Prince's friends lowered his brown eyes contritely. "I am sorry, mellon-nín, truly. Tell us the reason behind your temper."

"If you must know..."

"Tell us. It might make you feel better."

Thranduil flashed Veassen a look of gratitude as he let his legs fold beneath him and sat down upon the floor with a heavy sigh. He played with the bottom of the tapestry, noting absently that the material was dusty where palace staff had neglected to clean at such a low level. "I have made my father angry again. I know, I know. I have overtaken even Linwë in the trouble stakes, but I don't know how I do so well at disappointing him. Most of the time he misunderstands or over-reacts, and today he has done both because I really am not at fault. He will not see that, though. I don't think he wants to see it. Valar, I wish I understood why he is...just the way he is."

"You do know," Linwë said quietly, sitting at his friend's side. "It is the crown he wears. So, what has he blamed you for that you are not guilty of?"

"I was given a letter by Maethor to hand over to him but the parchment was gone when I came to deliver it. Perhaps it would not be so awful if there was nothing important contained in the note, but it was my tutor's resignation because his wife is due to give birth this week. I would never have failed to give that to my father, not knowing how much it meant to Maethor," Thranduil explained miserably. A second sigh left his lips, and he rested his chin in the palm of one hand. "Now I have been sent away with a promise that I shall be dealt with later, whatever that might mean."

At the words, Veassen's eyes widened and he reached up to twirl a strand of brown hair around his fingers, an action most often seen when he himself was in trouble or plagued by worries. "Oh, no. I think you should know something... We must tell him, Linwë. It would be wrong not to."

"Tell me what?" Thranduil questioned warily.

"We... It was... You didn't lose the letter and your tutor didn't take it back." Veassen unconsciously stepped away, holding both hands out as though to defend himself. "Don't be angry with us. We were on the way to archery a few weeks ago when we passed the glade you were studying in. You were just finishing your lesson and we waited for you so that we could all walk to the training fields together, and we couldn't help but overhear Maethor telling you that he would not be your teacher any more. We saw him give you the letter, and... Linwë?"

The oldest Elfling cast his friend a baleful look, but there was no choice but to pick up the tale where it had been left off. "We didn't let on that we had heard anything, and when you were changing into your archery clothes, we...took the letter. We hid it."

"Why would you do something like that?" Thranduil whispered.

"It wasn't done to hurt you or land you in trouble. Please don't think that," Veassen said desperately, kneeling on the floor and trying to touch the Prince's shoulder. He was met with a flash of azure eyes, and withdrew his hand immediately. "We have just had days of progression tests in our lessons, and our teacher has given us and the rest of the students two weeks free from study. We thought it was perfect timing, that if you didn't have a tutor the three of us could be together as we used to. We could go swimming, play in the trees, spend all day just doing nothing. Would you not like that?"

"We were trying to do something nice," Linwë added in a soft voice. "We were thinking of you."

Tangling his fingers in the golden strands of his hair, Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "How far ahead did you think? Clearly you did not consider the fact that my father would become involved at one point or another. Now he is furious with me. I don't know what he will do, and... Thank you for the thought. Yes, I would very much like to have free days where things could be as they once were, but not at the expense of the King's wrath. None of it matters now, anyway. I may have some time without lessons, but I don't think I shall be allowed out of the palace. Either I will be under house arrest or given chores."

"We are sorry, we should have known better," Veassen grimaced. "I don't know what came over me. I must have been spending too much time with a certain trouble maker."

"Charming," Linwë muttered.

Trying not to see the guilty looks his friends exchanged, Thranduil rose from his place on the floor and brushed specks of dust off his clothes as he glanced around the side of the tapestry. He immediately jerked backwards and pressed a finger to his lips, inaudibly demanding silence from the other boys. Although both of them raised enquiring eyebrows at his sudden desire for discretion, neither gave away their positions by peering out into the corridor. Instead they remained quiet, listening carefully to the conversation being held just a short distance away as two Elves strode purposefully past. The words were hushed and urgent, but most easily reached the keen ears of the Elven children.

"That was the King," Veassen whispered, his brown eyes wide. "And his brother, the Vice-Regent."

Thranduil nodded slowly. "They said that someone has been hurt. My father was due to have an appointment he could not afford to miss. Why would he avoid it unless something terrible has happened?"

"The healing wing," Linwë hissed. "Come!"

Slipping out from behind the floor length tapestry, the three youths left the corridor at a run. They passed a number of Elves garbed in the military uniform of Greenwood's army, and the expression worn by the warriors were ones clouded with fear and concern. Thranduil's heart struck hard and fast against his chest. Although the kingdom had an armed force and soldiers of great strength and valour, it was not greatly advanced in terms of weaponry. There had never been any need for vast numbers of fighters, for the Wood-elves were a peaceful folk. Their lives were not dictated by feuds and battles beneath the trees. It was such rustic ideals and morals that conceived the Crown Prince's worry. If a highly developed enemy entered the forest, he was not certain that his father's people could achieve victory.

The healing rooms on the south side of the palace were unnaturally busy, and an Elf woman stopped the children at the door before they could set even a foot inside. "Prince Thranduil, we were just about to send for you. Come with me. Your companions must go on their way."

"We will wait for you," Veassen whispered, whilst Linwë stuck his tongue out at the lady's turned back.

Opening his mouth to reply, the heir to the throne was led along a row of empty beds before he had a chance to speak even one word to his friends. "What is happening? Why would you send for me?"

"In there," the woman murmured, gesturing to a private room at the end of the ward.

Thranduil swallowed down the fear that was making itself known within him, and drew a deep breath to calm his nerves. It had to be a member of the Royal Family. There was nobody else other than Linwë and Veassen for whom he would be summoned. _Valar, Nana... _His mother had not been at the breakfast table that morning. If something had happened to her, if she was hurt or worse, he did not think he would be able to bear the pain. Felith was the one Elf in the whole of Greenwood who could successfully defend him to the King. She openly resented the strict upbringing given to her only child, and acted often as a barrier between her husband and son to protect the Prince from trouble with his father.

Closing his eyes and sending a quick prayer to the powers, the boy pushed open the door. Relief flooded him at the sight of his mother standing near the window, but it vanished when he realised the identity of the wounded individual lying unconscious upon the bed. "Saeldur," he whispered. "Oh no... What happened?"

"Your cousin has been shot," Oropher informed his son quietly.

"Shot?" Thranduil repeated, stunned. "How? By who? Why would anyone want to hurt him? When did this happen? Where?"

Queen Felith moved from the window to pull the child into a tight embrace. Her fair face was white, the bright blue pools of her eyes damp. The situation had to be serious indeed for an adult to shed tears. "He was riding through the forest with some fellow warriors earlier this morning. None of them seem to know what took place, for it all happened so swiftly. One moment he was speaking with them, the next he was slipping from his horse. They did not see or hear the perpetrator. All they can be sure of is that this was a direct attempt on his life."

"Is he going to-?

"No."

Thranduil stepped away from his mother, and regarded the turned back of an ebony haired Elf-lord. "Uncle Vehiron," he acknowledged softly.

"Your cousin will not die, but the healers say that something seems to be preventing his recovery," Oropher murmured. Turning away from the bed, he rested one strong hand upon the child's shoulder, his earlier fury vanquished in light of greater events. "The shooting occurred some hours ago, and more than a few of the warriors present at the time are adequately trained to treat wounds that could be gained in battle. They removed the arrow from his shoulder and administered herbs and bandages, but Saeldur has not woken. He should have regained consciousness by now."

"May I see him?" Thranduil whispered. A nod from the King sent him forwards a few steps, and he stood at the bedside of his wounded cousin with unquenchable fear coursing through his veins. _He looks so pale. It is not natural, such whiteness cannot be. Valar, please protect him. Please..._

"Had the Valar been watching over him, this would not have happened," Lord Vehiron said, his voice like ice. "They have forsaken us before. They will forsake us again."

His words were met with only uncomfortable silence. When the Sindarin family had lived in Lindon after the Fall of Doriath at the hands of Fëanor's sons, his wife had been slain by Orcs on a journey outside of the kingdom. Rather than flee the beasts and seek escape with her then infant child, she had made a vain attempt to defeat their wicked blades and intentions. Her immortal life had been the ultimate price to pay for such rashness and impetuous bravery, and it had since been said in quiet tones by Oropher that his younger brother had never truly forgiven the lady for leaving him alone with a babe of just months to raise.

"That is not true," Queen Felith murmured. "Your son is strong. He will wake."

As Vehiron spun sharply to face the Elven lady and counter her statement with a snapped one of his own, the door to the healing room swung inwards on quiet hinges. The worried eyes of the royals flew towards the two newcomers in apprehensive anticipation. Before the crowning of Greenwood's first ruling family just a few years back, the forest had been maintained by an elite group of Elves known throughout the realm as the Circle of Elders. Chosen a long time ago and respected by the people for their wisdom and unparalleled abilities to successfully govern such a large region, the members of the Circle still held great amounts of power in Oropher's court and aided him in his kingship with the making of decisions and general sovereignty. For a pair of such individuals to be present now, something of significance indeed must have occurred.

"Elder Nestaeth, Elder Galawen," the King said softly, inclining his dark head towards the women. "I appreciate your coming to the bedside of my nephew. I fear he needs help that I cannot give."

"We have retrieved the arrow from the warriors present with the Prince Regent at the time of his attack, and have examined it at lengths together," the lady named Nestaeth explained. As a healer herself, she wore practical clothes of a feminine tunic with leggings and slightly heeled deerskin boots. Simplistic braids kept copper hair away from her face, and her green eyes were sharp, as though constantly on the lookout for hidden wounds and maladies. "We hoped that our abilities coupled together would find the reason behind Prince Saeldur's state of unconsciousness, and although we have succeeded, the verdict is not a pleasant one."

"Tell us," Lord Vehiron ground out.

The second woman pushed her single thick braid off one shoulder, and stepped forwards to address the royals. In spite of her high position within the realm, she wore a plain dress in shades of brown and sturdy shoes of a leathery material. To look at her, one would not know her for an Elder. "My talents lie in growing; I know more of flowers, plant life and herbs than many in the forest can claim to. Today I have left my gardens to study this arrow, and what I found upon its tip struck fear into me. The individual responsible for the attack has used a concoction of herbs that when mixed together form a harmful compound."

"What does that mean?" Oropher asked quietly. "How harmful?"

"Poisonous," Nestaeth returned.

Thranduil felt his heart skip beats at the word, and the gasp of his mother and the oath that left his uncle's lips went unnoticed as he looked towards his cousin lying still and unresponsive. "Can he be saved?" Protocol seemed to have been forgotten. He would never have involved himself in an adult conversation at any other time, but even his father appeared not to care that he was doing so now. "Is it strong enough that you cannot help him?"

"No. I can have an antidote brewed in a matter of hours which will remove the poison from his body," Galawen replied slowly. "He will recover. However, it will be a slow process. Somebody knew this when they strung their arrow and released it. They knew of the effects their venom would have upon his natural ability to heal swiftly. King Oropher, look for the perpetrator but do not waste your time searching for an assassin. This individual was sending a warning."

"A warning against what?" Vehiron snapped. "And why did it involve my son?"

"We shall discover that when the Elf is found," Oropher murmured. "He _will_ be found, brother."

As the older Elves continued to speak in hushed tones, Thranduil caught his mother's eye and nodded towards the door. The small smile that came as silent permission to leave was a welcome relief; he did not think he could stay in that stifling room any longer with talk of conspiracy and assassins surrounding him. He spared his unconscious cousin one last glance and sent a final prayer to the Valar that he should wake before turning and stepping back out into the main healing ward. With determination flooding his thoughts, he avoided meeting the gazes that were fixed upon him and hastened his step to be away from the prying minds, knowing full well that their owners would begin asking questions sooner or later. Only when he was out in the corridor with his waiting friends falling in beside him did he slow to a lesser pace.

"We heard them talking about the Prince Regent," Veassen whispered. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Thranduil questioned shortly.

"Has he been shot?"

Stopping by a window that looked out over the forest, the blond haired youth turned to face his friends. He had not expected them to wear the same curious expressions as the Elves outside his cousin's room, but the genuine concern in their eyes touched him. "I am sorry for my manner. Yes, it is true. Someone shot at him whilst he was on the way to a border patrol, I think it was. He will recover, so it is said, but he will not recover swiftly."

"Prince Saeldur is an Elf just like the rest of us," Linwë said slowly. "Why would he not heal as an Elf should?"

Thranduil drew a deep breath to speak his next words. He still could not believe that such a crime had been committed in peaceful Greenwood. "The arrow tip was poisoned, and now that the venom has entered his blood it will hinder the healing process. It could be worse, but I suppose this is bad enough. Two of the Elders came to see him, and they said that the attack was not meant to kill. It was a warning. I think there is someone out there who does not want a ruling family, who does not want _my _family."

"You have jumped swiftly to that assumption. It could have been anything. Maybe a novice practicing archery or an inexperienced hunter," Veassen suggested, although he sounded doubtful.

"How many hunters do you know who kill with poison arrows?" Linwë scorned.

"None, but why would anyone wish to harm a member of the Royal Family?" the smaller boy argued. "Don't be so suspicious. That goes for you too, Thranduil. It was a stray arrow. There has to be an explanation for the poison. There has to be."

Sharing a silent look with Linwë, the Crown Prince turned away and cast his gaze out of the window. "Think that if you will, but I know what my thoughts are."

"Tell us..."

"No."

"You think you could be next," Linwë murmured.

Thranduil's eyes flickered at the words but he gave them no verbal response, knowing that his silence would be reply enough. Somebody had lain in wait for his cousin to pass through a specific part of the forest, hidden so well by the trees that even a contingent of trained warriors had been blind and deaf to their presence. They had taken the time and effort to put together a complicated mix of herbs to form debilitating venom strong enough to trick the infallible Elven healing ability into believing itself useless. They had chosen their target with precision, care and accuracy, and they had delivered an unreadable warning stained in blood to the Royal Family of Greenwood the Great. It was a summer's day, but the sky outside was suddenly black.

**Any feedback would be very much appreciated, whether you like the story or think I could do better or anything. I will be updating every week, so see you next Sunday. Thank you for reading. **

**Misto**


	2. Set in Motion

**Chapter 2**

As morning dawned upon the realm of Greenwood and birds began to sing songs of welcome after a night of quiescence, Thranduil dressed swiftly and made his way to the rooms at the far end of the palace's royal wing, taking just one small detour to the kitchens to fill his pockets with wrapped up pastries and sweetmeats. The food was not for him. He would eat at the dining table with his parents and uncle, but such a routine task was as yet forbidden to his cousin. Although Saeldur had woken after a successfully administered antidote for the poison flowing through his body, the affects of the venom had not released their hold on him. He was strictly confined to his bed, and a single step without the aid of a healer was met with stern reprimands that he would spend the rest of his immortal life recovering if he did not listen to instructions from those who knew best and do as he was told. 

Thranduil raised one hand to push his relative's door open, but someone on the other side beat him to it. Taking a step back, he glanced downwards to ensure that the breakfast was well hidden. Saeldur had not been freed from his diet of dull strength building food, something that did not sit well with him at all. "Good morning, Nana," the Prince greeted as his mother stepped out into the corridor. "You are awake early this morning."

"As are you," Queen Felith observed. "The sun has only just risen."

"Well, I know that Saeldur's sleeping patterns have changed since the attack. I thought he might like some company," Thranduil said, silently commending himself on his innocent facade.

"And breakfast?"

"What?"

The fair Elven lady leaned down and tucked an overhanging piece of cloth into her son's already bulging pockets, sharing a knowing smile with him as she straightened once more. "I shall keep this from the healers if you do. Ensure you are on time for your own breakfast today, my star. You were late yesterday."

"Yes, Nana," Thranduil nodded. "Thank you."

After accepting a gentle kiss atop his head from Felith, he watched her leave and waited until she had rounded a corner before walking through Saeldur's lounge area to the sleeping chamber beyond. He knocked on the door and waited for a slowly strengthening voice to call out with permission to enter. Even with a road of recovery to travel, his cousin's temper was not cool enough to risk stepping into his private rooms unannounced. Only his confinement to bed and an inability to get up and take too many steps had released the strict rule of announcing oneself at the very first door whilst still in the corridor. The Prince Regent liked his privacy, and losing it on account of his injury had not yet ceased to be a frustration for him.

"Good morning. I brought you some breakfast, but be careful that the healers do not see it," Thranduil informed his relative. "Did you sleep well?"

The patient's dark head was turned towards the window on the far side of the room, and he redirected his attention with a weary sigh. "No, not very. It was another restless night."

"I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you could ask the healers for a sleeping draught or-

"No, I will not ask them for anything," Saeldur snapped. No sooner had the words left his mouth than his eyes fluttered shut, accompanied by a flicker of guilt upon his face. "Forgive me. I just... I hate being useless. I despise having to rely on other Elves for such simple things when I should be fully independent. It has been close to three weeks and still the most I can achieve on my own two feet is fifty yards. I am not a child, yet everyone treats me as they would an infant."

"Not quite," Thranduil pointed out.

Letting his lips turn upwards slightly, the Prince Regent nodded in agreement. "Well, no. I wish too that I could be out there helping in the search for whoever did this. I want to make them pay for doing this to me, but what good am I laying in my bed?"

"Another pair of eyes would make no difference. The warriors who were with you when it happened have spent the greatest amount of time looking for the archer in the hopes that they can remember something from the day itself. You may have been there too, but don't forget that you spent hours unconscious." Thranduil shook his head and began emptying his pockets of the sweet foods he had pilfered from the kitchen. "Just eat these and perhaps you will feel better. Let those who are able worry about the search."

"I will be able again," Saeldur hissed, gripping his cousin's wrist with surprising force and pulling the boy close. "Don't you dare think for a moment that this is what my life is going to be. I am better than that. I am stronger."

"Alright... Let go of me," Thranduil whispered.

"Say I am stronger."

"No..."

"Say it!"

Twisting his wrist to disengage from the contact with the older Elf, Thranduil stepped away and stared at his relative through eyes widened by shock. "Valar, what were you thinking? I know you are frustrated and hurt, but that doesn't give you reason to act in such a way. If you thought I meant anything by my words, you were wrong. I was merely saying that you should not cause yourself more worry, for your own sake. You need to be calm."

"Do not tell me what I need to do," Saeldur said quietly, letting his head fall back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling.

"If this is the way you are going to be today, I don't wish to have any part of it. I shall return when I am sure you will not make another attempt to rip my arm off," Thranduil retorted stonily. "Have a nice breakfast."

Closing his green eyes, the Prince Regent waited for the slam of his bedroom door before shoving the blankets away and swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. The confidence that he was able to rise without aid was slow in coming, but when it arrived he grabbed hold of it and stood up somewhat shakily, pressing one hand to his injured shoulder in an attempt to quell the stabs of pain shooting through him. A thin robe had been hung over the back of his desk chair, and he pulled it tightly around himself. He had lost weight over the last two weeks, and it seemed to be an insult to his warrior status to let anyone see him as weak. He was not pathetic. He had become one of the best fighters in the realm since arriving a few years ago, something that had come as a shock to his family who had only ever known him as a scholar and lover of books. He would not go back to that Elf. He refused to.

He opened the door and looked out into the lounge area, and a soft groan immediately left his lips. It was vacant. _Fine, I shall__ remedy that_. Taking a few steps forwards, Saeldur raised one hand and sent a chair crashing to the ground. The noise it made was more than loud enough to be heard from out in the hallway, and he fixed upon his face an expression of pain, ready for the return of his cousin. Sure enough, the door to the living room flew open just a matter of seconds later and Thranduil ran back in, true concern reflected in his cerulean eyes as he caught the older Elf's arm and helped him to a settee in front of an empty hearth.

"What are you thinking of this time?" he reprimanded gently. "You cannot yet balance well enough to walk without sending furniture flying all over. The healers would kill you if they knew."

"I thought that I could do it," Saeldur moaned, feigning hurt, relishing the power lent to him by his apparent distress.

Thranduil's golden head shook in disapproval, but he did not voice the admonition he wanted to give. He knew his cousin's temper would snap if he was deemed to be disrespectful. "Very well. Just sit here quietly and get your strength back, then I will help you to bed. You do know this is making me late for breakfast. I will be killed too – by my father. Never mind, I suppose it is for a good reason. Can I get you anything? Water? A pillow for your head?"

"No. Just sit with me," the Prince Regent murmured. "I came out here to apologise. I should not have hurt you."

"You didn't." Thranduil glanced at his wrist, and tugged the sleeve of his tunic down to hide the red finger marks that marred his pale skin. "I have spent nearly all of my life living with you and your bad moods, but you have never grabbed me like that before. Please don't do it again, especially if I have done nothing to deserve such treatment."

"Your mother visited me before you did," Saeldur said, as though his cousin's words had not been spoken.

"Oh?"

He nodded his dark head, turning it on the back of the settee to regard the younger Elf. "Yes. Because of the circumstances surrounding my injury, I am to be dismissed from the army until I can undertake the correct training to build my strength up and match the other warriors once again. I could be off duty for a whole year, thanks to some traitorous Elf hiding somewhere out there. Even if he is caught and punished for doing this to me, it does not change the fact that the next six months of my life, at least, are to be spent wandering around the palace like a lost sheep. I cannot be useless, cousin. I will not let myself become idle."

"Of course not," Thranduil concurred quietly.

"Your mother understands. She suggested a way to busy myself, but I cannot see that the King will allow it," Saeldur continued. His statement was met with a questioning gaze, and he reached out to fondly touch the boy's smooth cheek. "You. Aunt Felith explained the situation you got yourself into on the day of the attack. Your tutor left and you neglected to inform your parents of his departure, leaving them the difficult task of finding a new teacher. Well, you could be looking at him."

"Nana wants you to tutor me?" the Crown Prince questioned.

"Indeed."

Folding his legs beneath him, Thranduil pulled a cushion close to his chest and played absently with the corner tassels as he contemplated the revelation. "But... Saeldur, you are second in line to the throne. You as a tutor is akin to my father becoming a stable manager. Not only are you the Prince Regent of Greenwood, but you are a trained warrior too. You may not be able to fight for a while, but how will you resume your normal duties after teaching me history and numbers? How could you go back to that?"

"You said yourself it will be some time. I hope you are not doubtful of my capabilities. You seem to forget that I was an apprentice to the scholars in Lindon, where I undertook studies to become an educator of children your age," Saeldur reminded his cousin. "That was before the decision to move to Greenwood was even made. I am perfectly qualified, but it will not happen anyway. Your father will not agree to such a suggestion."

"Would you want it?" Thranduil asked doubtfully.

"I would take anything to save myself from months of idleness," the older Elf murmured.

A timepiece sat upon the mantel over the hearth, and a pair of blue eyes drifted towards it as their royal owner thought the situation over. "It is not as late as I thought. There is yet time before breakfast to speak with my parents about this. That is, if you really do want to take on such a task. I don't know if I am an easy student. I try, but sometimes my attention wanders which makes the work suffer. But I don't want you to be miserable for the next six months." Thranduil was yet young enough to naively disregard what he wanted for himself, and his youthful innocence was evident as he got up and started towards the door. "I shall go now, unless you need me to help you back to bed. Can you manage?

"I can manage," Saeldur assured him softly.

Left alone, the dark haired Elf pulled his legs up onto the settee and curled them beneath himself, allowing a small smile to play upon his lips. There were no doubts in his head that Oropher's mind would eventually sway, although he deemed it would be Queen Felith rather than the Crown Prince who would succeed in securing him a position of power. _Power._It is a tool secretly desired by many, craved for when lost, needed desperately when far away. The moment Saeldur had entered a life where his young cousin could pull rank and give him orders, his controlling hand had been snatched away in an instant. He missed it. He missed the respect, the ability to dictate the child's words and actions with a single look, the immature fear of failure that he could instil after a single disapproving shake of his head. Although he would never knowingly harm Thranduil, he would enjoy regaining his dominance. He would enjoy it very much indeed.

* * *

As the door to the large sleeping chamber he shared with his wife opened, King Oropher's green eyes flicked to watch her entrance in the mirror. "Where did you go?" he asked quietly, tying off the end of a braid and starting a second on the other side of his head. "I hope it was not to warn our son about being late for breakfast today. You know I want him to learn responsibility for his actions without being cosseted all the time."

"That child has not been _cosseted_ by either of us since you took the crown," Felith retorted, her voice cool. "And the answer is no, I did not go to warn him. It may have escaped your notice last night, but I went for hours without sleep."

"I noticed," Oropher murmured.

"Something was playing on my mind throughout the morning and afternoon, but I found myself to be so tied up with various matters that I could not spare a moment for the thoughts in my head. It was only later in the evening whilst I was lying in our bed with a book that it came to me like a bolt of lightning." Moving to stand behind her husband, Felith pried his fingers away from the braid and continued it herself, meeting a pair of emerald pools in the looking glass with her own sapphire ones. "Thranduil needs a tutor."

"Valar, we have known that for nearly three weeks-

"Let me finish," the Queen broke in gently. "He needs a tutor to replace his old one, but we have put off the search in favour of finding the Elf who attacked Saeldur. For how long will that continue? How many more weeks must it be before he gets back into a routine?"

Oropher held up one hand and began to turn, but a soft tug upon his hair held him still. Sighing sharply, he contented himself with glaring at his wife in the mirror. "No. This is his fault. Had he not been so irresponsible and careless we would not be in this situation now. Besides, why are you raising the subject? If the boy is unhappy with the lack of a tutor or if he misses his lessons, he should come forwards and speak with me. The Valar know he has caused enough trouble that I did not need even before Saeldur was shot, but he got himself into this mess and he can wait until I have time enough to get him out of it."

"It may come as a surprise to you that he has not spoken one sullen word since the misunderstanding. Oh, I know you hold fast to the belief that he destroyed Maethor's letter, but _I_ will not stop believing he told you the truth. And," Felith hissed, dropping the King's unfinished braid and leaning on the dressing table to face him, "our son has been nothing but helpful to his cousin. He could go and spend his free time with Linwë and Veassen, but instead he shares his company with Saeldur. Have you noticed that act of selflessness? No, of course you have not. Whatever was I thinking?"

"Where is this leading?" Oropher asked, ending the query with a sigh.

"He needs a tutor. We could put him – and ourselves – through the rigorous process of searching the forest for private teachers, watching them conduct a lesson, asking them any number of questions to ensure that they have the correct abilities to educate a child, but why go through the trouble when a perfect candidate is sitting less than a hundred yards away? In this very corridor, to be precise. I realised last night that an Elf we know and trust has just been dismissed from the army for at least six months. Do you not see?" Felith's voice had risen with excitement during her explanation, and a sudden smile graced her fair features at the flawlessness of her plan. "It is wonderful. Thranduil must have a tutor and Saeldur needs something to do until he is able to resume his duties as a warrior. He cannot do _nothing_ for such a time. It would make him mad. And the rest of us too, I do not doubt."

"No."

"No?"

"That is what I said," Oropher replied shortly.

"But-" A knock on the door halted Felith's inevitable argument, and she flashed a look that said quite clearly the discussion was not over. "We are finishing this before breakfast."

Turning back to the mirror to finish his incomplete braid, the dark haired ruler gave no response as he listened to his wife leave their sleeping chamber to admit or refuse whoever had cut into their conversation. Although he paid little attention to the happenings outside, a few words reached him and a humourless smile played upon his lips. A distraction had been more than welcome, but he would have preferred it to be in a form other than his son. Since the incident with Maethor and the lost letter a few weeks ago, coupled with the attack on a member of their family, the relationship between father and child had become more strained than ever before. So much so that both of them had begun unconsciously going to great lengths in order to avoid the other. Felith despaired of their inability to form a truce, but it seemed that Thranduil had inherited the King's stubborn pride, and perhaps a little more.

The bedroom door swung inwards and the Queen returned with a hand upon her son's shoulder, guiding him over the threshold as though he was reluctant to enter. "Repeat the words you said to me, penneth. Your father is not yet ready to leave for breakfast. He will listen."

"What would you tell me?" Oropher asked coolly, casting his wife an equally frosty look.

Biting on his lower lip, Thranduil took a step forwards and raised his eyes to meet the older Elf's green orbs. He shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the tension which hung so heavily between them but wishing desperately to make it disappear. "Saeldur told me about Nana's idea. It wasn't what I expected, but if he has the knowledge and ability to teach me as well as Maethor did, I think that he should be given a chance. He has had his warrior status and his duties taken away through no fault of his own, and it is unfair that he should suffer any more. I know that I don't deserve any favours. I just don't want to see my cousin unhappy. I know that will happen if he cannot have something to take his mind away from the attack and his injury. I don't want this for myself. I want it for him."

"Admirable sentiments," the King retorted.

"Please think about him. I know he would appreciate the gesture, as would Uncle Vehiron. I want them to be happy. They deserve it," Thranduil finished softly.

Oropher shared a glance with Felith, conveying his thoughts to her with a single flicker of his eyes. As she glided noiselessly from the room, he turned his gaze upon his son and took a seat upon the edge of the bed. "Come to me, child. You need not look so worried. I wish only to speak with you. I fear that we have become somewhat distant from each other over the last few weeks. One might say the distance has been there ever since... Well, for a long time now. Much has changed for us; I only regret that _we _had to."

"Yes." The Prince wanted to say that he was not the different one, but he held his tongue and nodded quietly. "I know."

"Your mother tells me that you have been of great help to Saeldur," Oropher continued. "Suffering an injury is distressing at any time, but your cousin's circumstance is a rare one. I cannot begin to imagine the frustration he must be feeling. It will have done him good, your company. Thank you for that."

Thranduil just shook his head, failing to understand why he should receive thanks for something so trivial. "As you said, he is my cousin. If I did not do my utmost best to raise his spirits, I would be a poor relative. It was really nothing, Ada. He would do the same for me. And yes, he is very frustrated and is bound to become even more so over the next weeks and months. That is why you should consider him as a tutor. I know it is strange."

"Yes, very much so. Saeldur is the Prince Regent. He teaching is just the same as-

"You becoming a stable manager," Thranduil offered with a small smile.

With a flicker of his green eyes at the words that had been taken right from his mouth, Oropher nodded briefly and pressed a hand to his son's shoulder, a silent indicator that their time together was nearing its end. "Quite. However, if this is something that he desperately wants and you are happy with, I shall speak further with your mother and uncle. Perhaps we can reach an arrangement of sorts. It will not be permanent, though. And do not think for one moment that studying under your cousin means that you can relax your efforts. I _will _be paying very close attention to the work you produce. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ada."

"Good."

As the King released him, Thranduil turned to head towards the door and the family's private dining room, but a thought struck and held him in place."Ada... I don't like worrying that you are angry or disappointed. I just want you to know that the letter was nothing to do with me. Maethor did give it to me. I will admit that. But I truly believed he had taken it back. It was nowhere to be found when I came to pass it on. Nowhere."

"We have spoken of this before," Oropher reminded the child quietly. "What makes you think my mind will sway this time?"

"I am telling the truth," Thranduil muttered.

Letting out a soft sigh, the dark haired immortal rose and went forwards to stand before his son. He leaned down until his emerald eyes were on a level with the bright blue ones inherited from Felith, searching the deep pools for confirmation of the words. "You are? You have been all along? If that is so and I am in the wrong, you will have my most sincere apologies. But I need to know that you are not telling me a fallacy because you have already won a victory today and think that you can win another."

"Ada, I know that you dislike lies more than nearly anything else. I know too that the consequences for lying would not be pleasant, so why would I invite them in? If you want me to be honest with you, which I will be... Your temper frightens me sometimes. It never used to, not before you took the crown and everything changed, but that was a long time ago and none of it matters now," Thranduil said, his voice hushed. "I try my hardest to avoid making you angry, so deceit would not help me. I never have been that way, Ada. I am not a liar."

"Very well. We shall not discuss this matter again," Oropher assured him. He had tried not to hear that his disapproval gave the boy cause for fear, but as he pulled his only child to his side in an embrace that was over far too swiftly, they resounded painfully in his head like the echoes of a drum. "Go on to the dining room now. I shall be with you momentarily."

"Yes, sir," Thranduil murmured.

As the King of Greenwood was left alone in his sleeping chambers to contemplate the conversation he had held and the decision yet before him, a figure cloaked in grey and hidden by a large pillar of marble on the outside veranda turned away with a cold smile which curved their bright red lips upwards. Whilst appointing his own nephew and Prince Regent to tutor his son might be considered improper and a breach of etiquette, Oropher would lose a great and welcome burden from his shoulders. The eavesdropper knew that well. They were privy also to the knowledge that Saeldur's diminished state of health would keep him out of the army for many months to come. It was, after all, their very own concoction of poison which had struck the warrior down. That victory had been an easy one, and the cruelty and malice plotted for the future would ensure it was just the first of many.

* * *

**TBC.**** Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated if you have the time.**

**Misto**


	3. First Secrets, Second Chances

**Chapter 3**

The end was near, and Thranduil finished with an elaborate flourish of his quill before leaning back in his chair with a breath of relief that the work was over and done with. Another three weeks had eclipsed by since the as yet unsolved mystery of Saeldur's attack in the forest; and whilst he was physically too weak to undertake strenuous exercise, the lessons with his young cousin had finally begun. If the child's parents had been even slightly doubtful that their nephew would excel in his newly appointed position, both had been pleasantly surprised at the way he soared above all expectations. Whilst younger and less experienced than the previous tutor, the Prince Regent put his knowledge and training from Lindon to good use and had already succeeded in conceiving understanding of subjects where before there had been none. The idea to let him teach had been beneficial to all involved, something which Oropher had no choice but to thank his wife for and admit that she was right.

"Are you ready for me to look over your writing?"

Thranduil glanced up, twisting his wrist to bring some feeling back into his muscles. "Yes. I thought you said at the start of the lesson that half a page would suffice. You made me do a whole one."

"It is good practice," Saeldur advised.

"Practice..."

Raising his eyes from the parchment to cast his cousin a brief look, the Prince Regent nodded his dark head once. "That is what I said. Now, perhaps you will give me a few moments of peace to read this through."

"Of course," Thranduil acquiesced, although he knew full well that a question had not been asked of him. He pushed his chair back from the desk and went towards the window, silently resentful of the free Elves he could see milling about in the courtyard down below. Although autumn was upon the forest of Greenwood, the final days of summer sun had not yet vanished. He knew that his friends were taking advantage of the dry weather to play as many outdoor games as they could manage, something denied to him with the start of his new lessons. "Saeldur, that reminds me... I truly am sorry that I was late this morning. I thought there was time to see Linwë and Veassen before meeting you here. Saeldur, are you listening? Saeldur!"

"You need to start listening to what I say. In these lessons, I am not your cousin," the older Elf chided quietly. "I am your teacher and mentor. Please remember that."

"But I-

"I said, listen. You were told to let me read your work," Saeldur continued, keeping his green eyes focused on the parchment. "Take heed, and do not disturb me again."

Thranduil gazed at his relative in silence for a moment longer before sighing quietly and turning back to the window, leaning upon the sill and watching outside activities of palace staff, soldiers and uniformed guards. A pair of young immortals close to his own age occupied a corner of the courtyard to challenge each other with wooden practice swords; those two he regarded with a wistful smile upon his face as they parried and blocked each other. His friends would loyally spend all their free time waiting for him to escape from lessons, but he dared not request an early finish. With his previous tutor, Maethor, he might have considered it. Indeed, he had done more than just contemplate the notion in the past. Saeldur was too different. Whilst he was a good teacher and mostly fair, the rein he had upon his temper was short. There was not much that he tolerated, and idleness did not appear on the list. Asking permission to leave before the appropriate time was sure to evoke great waves of irritation in him.

"You should not allow them to become a distraction."

Starting slightly as a rolled up piece of parchment gently touched his shoulder, Thranduil's blue eyes flicked upwards to meet a pair of emerald ones. "It would be different if I was studying," he replied softly. "There is no work that I can do standing here. What does it matter that I watch what they are doing?"

"Your mind will wander, and I am not teaching you to witness a constant loss of concentration," Saeldur berated his student. "I am doing it to aid your progression-

"No, you are doing it because you cannot yet fight and my father needed to find a tutor swiftly," the Prince broke in. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he flinched inwardly and cast his gaze far away. "I am sorry."

"For what are you apologising?"

"I..."

Pressing a hand to the back of the child's neck, Saeldur guided him towards the desk and sat him down in one of the hard backed chairs. "Are you sorry because you feel I might have been insulted by your words, or are you sorry for such utter lack of respect? How many times must I tell you that we are not cousins in these lessons? The moment that door closes and you open your books and I begin to teach, our blood ties mean nothing. I treat you as my charge and my student; you must do me the courtesy of speaking politely and obeying instructions. I have no wish to waste our time giving a lecture that I know you have heard many times over the last few weeks. If you cannot begin to understand the simple concept of having me as a teacher, I promise that I will go to your father and have him find another. Unless you want that to happen, you need to start forgetting who we are outside of this room. Alright?"

"Yes," Thranduil muttered. The pressure upon his neck increased just subtly, and he lowered his eyes submissively. "Yes...sir."

"Good." Removing his hand and taking a seat opposite, Saeldur allowed himself a small smile. He had succeeded in gaining control and an amount of power over his cousin that he would never have been granted before, all done without harming anyone. He was silently pleased with himself. "Now, your work today. There is little for me to comment on. Your language skills are well developed and the grammatical errors you make are nothing that cannot be changed with the correct application of mind. What does concern me is the state of your hand. You start neatly enough, but towards the end of the page your writing becomes untidy and barely legible in some places. We shall amend that in time. As for the spelling of words, you do well without having to ask for help, but perhaps sometimes you should take a moment to think. You wrote a simple word incorrectly in this piece of work."

"Which one?" Thranduil leaned forwards to study the piece of parchment, and nodded understanding. "Sorcery... Well, I do know how to write that. I moved the quill without giving myself time to consider. That is true."

"It matters not; you will improve," Saeldur assured the Elfling. "I am going to write the correct spelling of this word, and you will then copy it ten times so that it stays in your mind. Yes, you may say the error does not need to be addressed because you already know it, but you will thank me when this practice keeps you from making similar mistakes in the future. You can protest if you wish, but I will then have you copy the word twenty times instead. That is your choice."

As his student began the work with a soft sigh, the Prince Regent pulled a small leaf out from his tunic pocket and stuck it underneath his tongue. The healers had given him medicines to help with the effects from his slowly mending injury, but the herbs had done nothing. This was his own find, come from a strange looking plant he had stumbled across whilst training as a warrior just a few years back. He did not know if his discovery had any name or was even used by those in the medical profession, but chewing the little leaf drove away discomfort, and that was all that mattered to him. Indeed, so caught up was he in the relief from pain that he did not hear his name being called. He was only dimly aware of it, and his attention was refocused a second too late. Without thinking, Thranduil had nudged his cousin's shoulder with the corner of his book, eliciting a sharp gasp from the older Elf.

"Valar," he ground out. "Did you have to do that?"

"I am sorry, I forgot that you... I didn't mean to hurt you," Thranduil answered swiftly. "You were not listening to me, I just... Are you well?"

"Fine, but you can write your misspelt word an additional ten times. Perhaps that will teach you to think," Saeldur retorted, his voice cool. He watched the child's golden head bow as the instruction was reluctantly carried out, and knew that the blue eyes would be narrowed in unseen irritation. At any other time he might have made a chiding comment, but the stabs of pain shooting up and down his injured arm held him silent. It was probably for the best. He did not wish to be guilty of teaching his student a forbidden curse. No matter what good the King and Queen thought of him, they would certainly not approve of that.

Reaching the end of his task, Thranduil lay down his quill and closed the book of parchment with a soft sigh. "I have finished."

"Very well, your lessons are over for the day. You may leave," Saeldur said. As the harsh sound of chair legs scraping across the floor assaulted his ears, he reached out and caught the Elfling's chin between finger and thumb. "Do not be sullen. It is a trait unbecoming to one of your status. Accept the mild punishment I gave you, and move on. Holding onto resentment will hinder the progress we make, and I am sure you do not want that. Do you?"

"No...sir."

The Prince Regent smiled briefly and pulled his hand back, giving a short nod of dismissal. "Good. Be on your way. I will expect you on time tomorrow."

Pausing a moment to mutter an assurance that he would not be late, Thranduil left the room without a backward glance and broke into an immediate run in the very instant the door swung shut behind him, ignoring the glances cast his way and not slowing until he was out in the open air. He stopped on the palace steps, his eyes turned towards the blue sky in a bid to banish the irritation that held him in a firm grip. His friends would only ask what was troubling him if he could not mask his emotions, and he had no wish to defend the way he had previously pleaded with his father for permission to be put under Saeldur's tutelage. Great amounts of pride dictated that being in the wrong was an unthinkable concept for him. He was content to shield the truth if it meant not having to admit that perhaps, just perhaps, another path should have been taken.

Breathing deeply, he walked across the paved courtyard to the corner occupied by the two children he had watched from the window. A wooden sword came flying through the air to land a short distance from him, and he smiled slightly as he picked the practice weapon up and held it out to Veassen. "Be careful with that. You could have an unsuspecting Elf's eye out. Our weapons master would not be pleased if he saw your carelessness."

"Not my fault," the brown haired boy muttered.

With a shake of his head, Linwë tucked his sword behind the belt around his waist and gestured for his friend to do the same. "Come, we have been here all afternoon waiting for our Prince to finish his royal studying. I want to go swimming in the lake before evening falls and we are called home. Does that sound agreeable to both of you?"

"I care not," Thranduil replied quietly. "Anything is preferable to those lessons of mine."

"You are not enjoying them?" Veassen asked.

As they left the palace grounds and began their walk through the verdant forest of Greenwood, the Prince made a movement with his head that was neither shake nor nod. "Well..." He would like nothing more than to let go and complain of the pedestal his cousin seemed to stand upon in their time of study, but that would mean holding up his hands and admitting that he had been wrong. Better just to bite his tongue and continue pretending. "Do either of you take pleasure from hours of reading and writing? No, they could be much worse. I am...content with them."

"Is your cousin fair?" Veassen pressed.

"Not like Maethor, but he treats me well enough and is a good tutor. Please, don't worry that I am unhappy," Thranduil assured them with a small smile. "Both of you have at least one older sibling. Just try and imagine being taught by them. You would almost certainly find it something of a struggle at times."

"I think it was a fool idea anyway," Linwë said under his breath.

Glancing sideways at his friend, the blond haired boy shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "I was doing a loved one a favour, and I don't expect to be his student for any more than a year. Saeldur can rejoin the army when his strength fully returns. Trust me, my time with him will be over soon enough."

"If you say so."

"What does that mean?"

Linwë copied Thranduil's shrug. "Not much, just that _I _think you have got yourself into something you will be hard pushed to escape from. For the love of the Valar, your cousin is an Elf. He has centuries, millennia to be a warrior. What difference will a few years teaching you make to him? No, you are very wrong. His strength may come back but he will not take advantage of that straight away. You will be trapped studying under him until you reach your majority."

"Don't argue," Veassen said softly.

"Who is arguing?" Thranduil snapped back. Drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, he turned his blue eyes upon the green ones of his antagonist. "I am not wrong in this. Do you truly believe that I would have convinced my father to let Saeldur teach me if I thought his tutelage would last for any great amount of time? I was persistent only because I knew – and I still do – that it will be over in a matter of months and he will be replaced by someone else."

"Don't be naive," Linwë scorned.

"Do you even know what the word means?" Thranduil flared.

Stepping between his friends before they could take their quarrel any further, Veassen held out both hands, pressing them firmly against the other Elflings' chests. "Stop it or I shall go back to my house and stay in there until the pair of you grow up. Why are you arguing about something that isn't worth the time or effort? Don't ruin a pleasant afternoon just because you cannot control your tempers. Valar, you are as bad as each other."

"Fine," Linwë hissed. "Forget I was ever concerned."

"I will not forget that, but I do think it is unneeded. You shall know if there is true cause for worry; I will tell you myself," Thranduil said, softening his voice slightly in an attempt at placation. "Can we just pretend this didn't happen? Let's go on to the lake. We can have a few hours there before evening falls."

The older boy shook his copper head, and cast a backward glance over his shoulder. "No. I don't feel like doing that now. My brother needs help with some chores as it is, so I should be getting back to the settlement before he comes looking for me."

"Linwë, you don't have to-" As his friend nodded a farewell before turning and walking away in the other direction through the trees, Thranduil let his eyes fly towards the sky in exasperation. "He did not have to do that, Veassen. He could have stayed. I had no plans to apologise, but nor did I intend to push the conversation any further."

"He did have to go."

"Why?"

"You know how he is," Veassen exhaled. "He has a tendency to fall in a strange mood if things fail to go the way he wishes. He wanted you to admit that you were wrong about your cousin because _he_ thinks he is right, but you're just as stubborn. Don't trouble yourself with worrying over it. Linwë will come around soon enough. I am sure that by tomorrow morning he will have forgotten that a single angry word was exchanged."

Thranduil nodded quietly, focusing his attention on the long forest path stretching out in front of him as he started to follow it once more. "What are your thoughts? Do you agree with him?"

"Perhaps there is some truth to Linwë's argument. It may be that Saeldur _will_ teach you for longer than you think because the years will be so few compared to the time he can have as a warrior. Time goes slowly for us; although we dislike being treated as such, we are children. For adults it must fly past," Veassen said somewhat uncomfortably, ready to defend himself in an instant if his words were met with anger. "There it is. You asked me what I think."

"And you are entitled to an opinion, just as I am," Thranduil sighed. "And Linwë."

"You are not going to snap at me?"

"Not this time."

Veassen smiled slightly, and touched a hand to his friend's shoulder. "I am glad of that. Now come, just because Linwë has stormed away in a sulk, that does not mean we too must be miserable. The lake will still be there without him to enjoy it. What do you say to an hour of swimming before going to my house for some berry pie? My mother has been working in the kitchen all day. Then my father can take you back to the palace this evening."

"I say that sounds perfect," Thranduil grinned.

The two Elflings walked in quiet companionship beneath the beautifully green canopy of leaves not yet turned brown and yellow by the turn of seasons, each silently looking forward to the fun and games they would have at the pool they frequented when busy timetables and lessons did not interfere. Whilst their play might be somewhat calmer with the absence of the most vivacious member of their party, neither of them truly minded. Although seriousness was not beyond Linwë's capabilities, the chance to hold deep conversation was seldom available in his company. Weary after hard hours of study with a strict tutor, Thranduil especially was in no mood for wildness. Moments of rare relaxation would be pleasant indeed, and more than welcome to chase away his sour mood of not so long ago.

As they passed through columns of beech trees, a strange tingling sensation crept over his skin and a shiver ran down his spine. Azure eyes narrowed in suspicion flicked to all sides, searching for something unidentifiable. Their owner had paled, but he held his head high as he scoured the surrounding woodland. "Veassen," he breathed. "Ve... What is that?"

"Hmm?"

"That...thing. Can you not sense it?" Thranduil pressed, his voice hushed.

"Should I?" Veassen asked warily. "What are you looking for? What do you see?"

The golden head of the Prince shook once; although he held up a hand as though for silence, he leaned forwards to address his friend in a soft hiss. "I _see _nothing, but the feeling is here and I know that I am not imagining anything, before you voice such an idea. Do you remember travelling through Lothlórien on the journey from Lindon? It was as though someone was constantly inside our heads, intruding on our thoughts and secrets. This is the same, only whoever I can sense is not listening. They are watching."

"Valar, you had me worried there for a moment. Trust you to cause a panic over something so trivial!" Veassen laughed in relief, and nudged the other boy's shoulder. "Linwë has clearly thought better of returning to the settlement and is somewhere in the trees debating whether he should come out and apologise now or wait until tomorrow when the whole incident will be forgotten."

"It is not him," Thranduil said sharply.

"Of course it is. Wait five minutes and he will step out from behind-

"No, Veassen! He was irritated with me, but even the greatest anger could not put such fire in his eyes as the flames that burn from somewhere close. The one who is watching does so in hatred and cruelty, and you know as well as I that Linwë could never be capable of those feelings. It is not a friend," Thranduil murmured, turning to pierce the trees with his own bright pools. "There is an enemy in this place, and... Perhaps I was wrong to help my cousin and have him as my tutor, but I know that I have never been more right than I am now. I _know_."

"Do you think it is the Elf who attacked the Prince Regent?" Veassen whispered. A raging gaze alighted upon him, and although no words were spoken, he read it easily. Drawing himself up taller, he set his jaw and nodded determinedly. "Race me."

"What?"

"Race me to my house. The winner receives two pieces of berry pie. _Race me._"

Understanding dawned, and Thranduil spun on his heel without waiting to see if his friend was following. He did not have to, for the soft sound of deerskin shoes slapping against the forest floor just a few steps behind reached his ears easily. The two children ran as though their very lives depended upon unwavering speed, which was not far from the truth to the best of their knowledge, but the desperate flight was without need. A slender figure slid fluidly from the thick branches of a tree, taking a moment to brush invisible specks of dust from the ankle length cloak of green they wore draped over their shoulders with the hood pulled high and the cowl hiding a face intensified by evil intent.

"Fly as far as you wish," the stranger breathed. "My hand has not extended its full length yet by any means, but the moment my fingers reach out and begin touching the silken strands of your life, escape will never be granted to you. Prepare to drown in a world of tears, Your _Highness_."

* * *

Five days had passed since those jagged words uttered in nobody's hearing, and the search for the mystery Elf had heightened after the revelation from Thranduil and his companion that they had encountered the culprit whilst walking through the forest. More and more pairs of eyes were added to the hunt, but in spite of their keenness and the impossibly far sight given only to immortal creatures, no progress had been made. Those who were unable to play a part in the chase for answers and justice had given up asking questions when family members or friends returned home. All they had to do was look into faces darkened with frustration, and the wish for answers would fall dead on their lips. Flashing eyes would silently tell them, 'perhaps tomorrow'.

Autumnal wind raged outside, and Thranduil watched from his place on a furry rug by the fire as his mother pulled a floor length curtain across the locked balcony doors as if that would somehow keep the whistling noise from entering in. "Is it raining, Nana?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Queen Felith glanced over her shoulder at the boy, and graced him with a small smile. "Yes, it has begun to. I deem the forest shall suffer some harsh weather through these coming months."

"That will make it more difficult to find the Elf who shot Saeldur," Thranduil thought aloud.

Sighing quietly, the fair immortal lady sank into a chair a short way from the fire. Gesturing with one slender hand, her lips turned upwards as her only child moved closer and rested his head against her knee. "No, starling. It will not. Remember that we had no luck finding him even before the weather turned for the worse. There have never been tracks or clues left. I cannot see that there will be any difference now the rains are coming."

"Perhaps..."

"You are tired," Felith softly observed. "You should have been abed thirty minutes back. I know you would wait to hear from your father if there have been developments, but go now and get some rest. It could be another hour before he returns. I promise that we shall wake you if anything of great significance has occurred."

"You promise?" Thranduil repeated seriously.

"So I said, penneth."

The Prince considered for a moment before nodding quiet acquiescence and rising from where he sat upon the carpeted floor. "Very well. Goodnight, Nana," he murmured, leaning forwards to kiss his mother's smooth cheek.

"Goodnight. I love you," Felith whispered against the luxurious strands of hair which mingled with her own.

"I love you more."

"You do not, but we could be here for many hours debating that argument," the Queen laughed gently. "Off you go."

Matching the lady's smile, Thranduil left the family lounge area and headed towards his sleeping chamber at the other end of the royal wing. Even in the corridor he could still hear the wild wind outside, harsh enough to make its way through stone walls and heavy wooden doors, and he released a soft sigh. No matter how much he would like for sleep to come the moment his head touched the pillow, the elements would be sure to keep it at bay. All he could wish for was that a night of restlessness would not impact upon his concentration in the lessons with his cousin tomorrow. Caught up in reflections that he would like to pass at least an hour of study without stepping on the wrong side of his cousin's temper, the Crown Prince failed to see the Elf approaching him until a voice known only too well broke into his thoughts.

"What are you doing wandering the palace at this time?"

Thranduil winced, and looked down at himself. He had not even changed from his day clothes into a night tunic. "Ada... I was...waiting."

"Did you expect to hear good tidings?" Oropher asked. Without waiting for an answer, he shook his dark head with an exhalation of breath. "No, there is nothing to tell you. The last searchers have given their reports and returned home for the night. Perhaps tomorrow will bring more luck, although... I have said that before. More than once."

"You will find him eventually," Thranduil said quietly.

Another sigh, deeper this time, left the immortal King's lips and he brushed a hand against his son's shoulder. "Few have your faith, including myself. It has been six weeks since the attack on your cousin, and our long hours of hunting have yielded nothing but frustration and wasted time. Were the culprit human, our task would be an easy one. But he is an Elf, and cunning enough that he knows how to hide all trace of himself from other Elves. We have no clues, no fresh leads, no... We have nothing."

"Ada, you do. Veassen and I sensed him-

"No, child. He was not there," Oropher broke in softly.

"Do you think I am lying?" Thranduil whispered. _Again_?

"Not once have I said that. You told me yourself that your other friend had left in a temper, and I cannot help but think that it was his eyes you felt. I know you are adamant that it was not Linwë, but it would be only natural for you to fear the worst after Saeldur was attacked," Oropher replied evenly. "Yes, I believe that you were being watched. But the belief that it was by the Elf we are hunting has fled me and the time has come to withdraw our search from the vicinity you were in. He is not there. He never was."

Thranduil drew his eyes away from the dark green orbs of his father, focusing his attention on an invisible point further down the corridor. There was no point arguing. It did not matter that he knew, without a doubt, that he was right. "If that is what you think, then... I was only trying to help. I thought it would make things easier and would find him more swiftly, but if you don't..."

"I know what you were trying to do, and I appreciate it. Now, perhaps you should be thinking about going to bed. It is late and you have lessons tomorrow morning," Oropher reminded the child. "Go."

"Yes, Ada." Although he turned to leave the other Elf's presence, something tugged at the Prince's mind and he hesitated a moment, remembering the way he and his mother had bade each other goodnight not so long ago. Maybe it was too much to hope, but there was nothing to lose by at least trying. "Ada? I... I love you." The words came out in a rush, and he held his breath as he waited for a reply.

"Goodnight, ion-nín," Oropher said softly.

Thranduil's heart sank, but he inaudibly scolded himself as he continued the short walk down the corridor and into his own rooms. If he was going to make an attempt at shared affection, he should know better by now than to expect great amounts of reciprocation from his father. The door swung shut behind him with a barely heard creak, and he released a weary breath as he headed towards the wardrobe to find a new nightshirt. As he searched, a shiver ran down his spine and his eyes flew towards the balcony doors. They were shut and locked, he knew, but why did he feel as though not all was well? As though he was being watched? Biting on his lower lip, he forgot the nightwear and the wardrobe, and walked across the room to press his nose against the cool glass panes. Darkness stretched for miles and miles, still and silent and impenetrable. There was nothing there. More than likely it had been just an owl or... Movement from down below caught the Prince's attention and put an immediate stop to his thoughts, and he breathed in sharply as realisation hit. Saeldur... His cousin was outside. His still healing cousin was outside and the attacker was still loose. Without waiting to consider, he spun around and left at a run, refusing to stop until he was close enough to help.

Glancing upwards at the dark night sky as he stepped out of a rarely used back door, Thranduil grimaced as droplets of rainwater hit his eyes and snaked their way down the back of his tunic. It was no good wishing that he had a cloak without turning right around and going back to his room to find one, so he entered into a drizzle that was all too swiftly becoming a downpour and ran lightly across the rear courtyard. Puddles forming over the paved stones were easily dodged by the nimble footed Elf, although the sheer force of the weather was making it increasingly difficult to remain upright even with the natural balance gifted to Elves. The tall figure some way ahead seemed to have no such troubles. He strode through the rain almost heedless of it, his head high and shoulders squared as though on a personal quest to be hindered only by the bravest of souls.

As he came closer to his cousin, the Crown Prince reached out one hand through the rain to catch at the whipping cloak just a short distance in front of him. He felt that would be a safer option than raising his voice above the raging elements and potentially alerting someone to their presence outside. Seconds before his fingers even grazed the soft material of the cape, Saeldur whirled around and shoved him violently away. He hit the stone wall of an outbuilding with a hiss of shock, and the speed with which escape was rendered an impossible notion made his eyes widen. Strong arms pinned him to the hard surface, and his struggles were futile. _No! How is this possible? He should be weak! _Thranduil tried his best to push his captor away, but the fingers digging painfully into his shoulders were enough to hold him still.

"You were following me," Saeldur snarled. He had not asked a question, and the grip upon his cousin tightened as the younger Elf opened his mouth to reply. "You sneak! What gives you the right to spy on me?"

"I didn't... I wasn't! How can you think yourself strong enough to be out alone in this weather?" Even as he spoke the words, Thranduil wondered why they had fallen from his lips. If the Prince Regent had the strength to pin him so forcefully, he certainly was not so weak as to hide from a storm. Nevertheless, he pressed on with his argument. "I saw you enter the courtyard from outside the palace grounds, so you must have been in the forest. If the healers found out, or your father-

Emerald eyes flickered for just a moment before their owner hissed in contempt. "Be _silent_! Now, I am going to turn around and go to my rooms alone. You will follow when I am out of sight, but do not walk the same way I do. We will not look upon each other until the morning, and then there will be no mention of tonight from either of us. You did not see me out here. You were tucked up in your bed and that is where you stayed until the rising of the sun. I hope we have an understanding."

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Thranduil waited until his cousin had begun to stalk away before voicing the question preying on his mind. "Were you with a lady?"

"What is it to you?" Saeldur turned, and advanced slowly upon the child with a wild and never before seen light shining in the depths of his gaze. "My business is my own, and I answer to no-one. So tell me, what is it to you whether I was with a lady or taking a walk beneath the trees or anything else? Hmm? You cannot answer, can you? You _have _no answer."

"I just-

His defence was cut in half by a sharp gasp as he tried to dodge the hand which flew through the air to connect painfully with his cheek. The blow was not hard enough to conceive tears, but they came nonetheless from shock and the fear that something terrible must have happened to make his cousin resort to violence. Saeldur had a temper and lost it frequently, but despite their differences he had never, _never_... Thranduil closed his eyes tightly and pressed the sleeve of his wet tunic to the side of his face, letting the rain trickle down his skin and cool the burning sensation. He dared not speak, dared not ask why. He could not bring himself to look into the flashing jewels of green fire high above him, for he knew that facing a glare filled with such fury would crumble his resolve into dust until nothing left of it remained. All that existed for him was the unavoidable fact that the one Elf he had always loved as a brother had struck out with hatred marring his fairness.

As the rain soaked his clothes and golden strands of hair plastered themselves to his face, the young Elf forced courage to come and opened his eyes. Except for the falling water, darkness and a solitary cat hunting for a night time meal, he was alone. His eyes flew wildly around the courtyard, searching for someone he knew would not be there, and he let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the wet floor. He ignored the dampness seeping through his tunic and leggings, oblivious to it all as he rested his head in trembling hands and tried to understand, struggled without success to answer the questions flying through his head. He was unaware for how long he sat there in the pouring rain, but when he finally sought sanctuary in his own warm sleeping chamber, the first light of dawn was slowly making itself known across the sky.

* * *

A red apple was held loosely in Saeldur's hand as he stood next to a large bay window and watched without really seeing the flight of a great flock of birds over the treetops. He had not graced the dining room with his presence that morning. Sleep had failed to come easily the previous night, and although he could not remember lying awake for hours in the darkness, the reluctance to rise from his bed with the appearance of Anor was enough to tell him that something of importance must have occurred to render him so weary. He sighed quietly, and touched his left shoulder. That was another strange concept that he was struggling to grasp. Almost overnight, the pain from his six week old injury had disappeared and strength was suddenly returned as though it had never existed in the first place. He asked no questions and spoke of the miracle to none, but inside he was screaming for answers. Why did his memory extend only to a certain point and then stop? Why had he woken to find his cloak soaked through? What had he done last night in the darkness that he somehow knew he should be ashamed of?

Movement in the window panes caught his attention, and he could not help starting as he realised that the door to his teaching room had opened and closed without his knowledge. He turned slowly, and nodded in silent greeting to the young Elf watching him from the other side of the chamber. "Good morning," he murmured. "I did not hear you... Sit down; there is much we have to work through today. I want to get started on some history from the First Age, so... Sit."

Thranduil made no move, holding a set of books to his chest and regarding the Prince Regent with his head tilted to one side like a bird. He said nothing. It looked for a moment as though he would turn around and walk away again, but instead he came forwards and pulled a chair out from under the table with a harsh jerk. Green eyes were fixed steadily upon him, and he held them without flinching. Courage may have fled him last night, but now he held his head high and kept his face impassive. He had debated conjuring a plausible explanation to forsake his lessons that day until a sharp voice from inside his own head told him that if he allowed himself to be beaten then he would appear weak. He could not let that happen. As he told himself that once more to reinforce the message, a hand entered his vision and ran down the loose hair hanging over his shoulder. He immediately pulled away, accompanying the movement with a hiss.

"Why do you recoil?" Saeldur asked quietly. "Your hair is damp. I just...wondered."

"Did you?"

Looking up at the frostiness in his cousin's voice, the raven haired Elf took a seat next to him and placed a hand atop the book he had been about to open. "Leave that. Before we begin, I want you to tell me something. I woke this morning and found that my clothes and the cloak I wore last night were wet. Why would that be? Is it a coincidence that neither they nor your hair are dry?"

"What do you think?" Thranduil murmured.

"Had I an answer to my own question, why would I take the trouble to speak it aloud? I know that I went for a walk later in the evening to see how far I could go before strength failed me, but I returned to the palace before the rain came. The clouds were dark, and I sensed a downpour so I turned around and came home," Saeldur said vehemently. "How did I become wet if I was under a roof? Tell me how that happened."

"Perhaps you were not under a roof. Could it be that you stayed outside for longer than you think?" As the older immortal's head shook immediately, Thranduil leaned forwards and rested both arms on the table, studying his cousin from narrowed eyes. All he could see was genuine confusion and a desire for knowledge. "I am uncertain of what you wish me to say. You left the palace grounds and went through the forest. Did you go a great distance?"

"I cannot have walked for more than fifteen minutes. After that, there is nothing. I do not remember the journey back here or going to my bed or even falling asleep. And yet..." Saeldur shook his head again, slowly this time. "I must have done all of that. I am here now, no?"

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"Memory loss cannot be healthy," the Prince Regent jested quietly.

"No."

"Thranduil, are you sure that there is no more light to be shed on this?" Saeldur pressed. "If you know something but you have not told me... Please. I need to know."

Only silence existed as the child considered his situation. He could not spend too much time in thought; that would certainly give away the fact that he was hiding the truth behind a mask of impassiveness and words. "There...there is something else," he said eventually, his voice hushed. "I went to my bed later than I usually do last night, and as I checked that the balcony doors were locked, I saw you in the courtyard. You looked unwell, weak, as though you needed help. I went outside and took you to your rooms. You were...confused. The walk must have been too much for you. You did not remember leaving the palace grounds. In fact, I am unsure that you even knew who I was. You tired yourself. You tried to do too much."

"I did?"

"Hmm."

Saeldur passed one hand over his face, and he shook his dark head with a small smile curving his lips upwards. "No. Lies, all lies. He is lying."

"It is the truth," Thranduil replied warily. "I helped you-

"Silence!"

As books and parchment flew from the table with one sweep of his cousin's hand, the Crown Prince pushed his chair back and spun on his heel towards the door. The light from before that had burnt so brightly in the green eyes of Saeldur was back with just as much intensity, and his voice held a hundred jagged stalactites. This was not the Elf he knew. Something was wrong, and Thranduil was not naive enough to think that he could calm the raging force before him with simple words and a placating expression. He reached the other side of the room in seconds, but a hand stronger than he could fight against caught the back of his tunic and pulled him away from the door. He felt himself being shaken violently, madly, and no amount of resistance on his part could set him free. All he could do was wait until it was over, until he was thrown to the floor and his tormentor strode away from him with a feral snarl.

"You are lying to me," Saeldur whispered, running both hands through his long hair. "Lying, you are lying, you are lying. Why? I do not like being lied to. But you did it. You lied!"

"No..."

"You lied!"

"Maybe I...had it wrong," Thranduil breathed. He chanced a look over his shoulder, but the door was too far away to reach without being seen. "I could have mistaken-

Flinging one hand out to silence his cousin, Saeldur jumped forwards and gripped the child's chin with crushing force. "If I was weak, how do you explain this? Why are you unable to fight against me? Yes, you were very much mistaken, but of course you knew that all along. You did not help me last night. I care not for the occurrences of an evening past, but whatever they were, you lied to me. You will learn in time that I hate liars, I hate them and I hate what you have done."

"If I upset you-

"You _lied_ to me."

Saeldur pushed the boy away from him, jerking his hand back and spinning away to face the other side of the room, his breathing heavy as though he had greatly exerted himself. He was silent and unmoving, glaring at the wall and throwing all of his emotions into that smooth surface, a safer option than directing them anywhere else. It was not until a stifled sob reached his ears that the mad light in his eyes flickered out of existence and an expression of wonderment passed across his fair face. He looked slowly from side to side. His mouth opened to voice a question, but it did not come. Instead he just continued to look, searching for the pieces of his memory that had suddenly vanished from time and space. No answers were yielded, and he turned only his head to look over his shoulder. The sight which greeted him came as a sharp shock, and he whirled around on his heel to stare at his cousin through wide eyes.

"What...what happened?"

"You know," Thranduil whispered.

"No, I do not. Your lessons should have started already, why are you...? For the love of the Valar, child. This is the room in which you study. Get up from the floor. If you wish to play around, wait until you see your friends. Are you shaking your head at me?" Saeldur asked, disbelief colouring his voice. "I told you to get up. Do it, now. I am more than happy to give you an additional hour of history if that is the way you wish to... What are you even doing?"

As his cousin took a step towards him, Thranduil backed away until he could retreat no further. "Come no closer," he hissed. "Stay where you are."

"You sound terrified. Your face is pale." The Prince Regent cocked his head like a deer listening to the wind, and let his eyes scan the previously immaculate room. Open books and pieces of parchment lay scattered upon the floor; an ink bottle had fallen and smashed. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did this happen? Did you do this?"

"Me? Did _I _do it? You made that mess seconds before shaking me like a rag doll and throwing me to the ground. Say that you remember it. Say that you do!" Fear flew through Thranduil's eyes, and he recoiled as best he could from the Elf who came forth to kneel at his side. "Don't touch me. If you lay one finger upon me, I swear that what you have done will go _straight _to the King _and_ your father. _Do not touch me_."

"Of what do you speak? Do you mean to say that I am responsible for this? But I have no memory," Saeldur reflected uncertainly. Resting his head in both hands, it shook from side to side as he fought desperately for a comprehension that did not seem to be arriving. "This must be some jest. I never did like that boy you associate with. Linwë... It is his influence forcing you to make such an implication against me. Unless... Unless I truly did... Tell me what happened last night."

"You struck me," Thranduil said quietly, touching his left cheek. "Here."

"And the proof?"

"Faded."

Saeldur looked up through a curtain of black hair. He was a fine actor when the need arose, but even the greatest performer would struggle to portray such genuine confusion. "I know well that you and I are not the best of friends. I easily lose my patience and at times I snap, but no matter how you anger me I have never raised my hand to you. Not like that."

"Until last night," Thranduil corrected, his voice softer than before. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"I could not if the continuation of my very existence was dependent upon it." Rising from his place kneeling on the floor, Saeldur sighed wearily and held out one hand to his cousin. It was not taken, as he expected. "Please, stand. Looking at you backed against the wall in that way is an awful reminder of this thing that I should be aware of. What will you do now? Where do we go from here?"

The child got to his feet, pointedly keeping his gaze averted as he stepped past the Prince Regent to gather his scattered books from the floor. He could feel a pair of green eyes upon his back silently pleading for help, and the knowledge that his arrogantly proud relative felt so lost tugged at his anger until it drifted away entirely. "A part of me wants to find my father and tell him everything that has happened, both tonight and today. But the other part of me, the greater part, says it would be unjust for you to suffer his wrath when clearly you understand no more than I do. So...this will be a secret. I will keep it because we are cousins and I care deeply for you. The King will not find out about this."

"My second chance will not be wasted," Saeldur said quietly.

"Today was your second chance." Reaching out to pull on the door handle, Thranduil paused and looked over his shoulder. "Do not waste your third."

**TBC**


	4. Almiris

**Chapter 4**

Laughter drifted upwards through the trees of Greenwood the Great, and it was only absently that Thranduil watched the antics of his friends from a vantage point high above the ground. They had begun a game of hide and seek some twenty minutes back to test the concealment abilities taught by their weapon masters in lessons; although both Linwë and Veassen seemed to have surrendered their searching assignment in favour of warring against each other with armfuls of fallen leaves. Their hidden companion sat upon an elm branch, wearing the hood of his dark green cloak to prevent the brightness of his hair from giving away his position. He was not in the mood for play. His thoughts were travelling in a far distant place, as was to be expected after a certain pair of secret events over the past few weeks known only to himself and one other.

The promise made after Saeldur's second act of violence was yet to be broken. It was almost a surprise to the younger Prince of the forest that he had been so successful at hiding the truth from his father and the perceptive eyes of his mother, but neither they nor his uncle had discerned that anything untoward had taken place beneath the palace roof. If he was being honest, the task was made much easier by his cousin. Since that morning twelve days previous, the other Elf avoided him outside of their lessons and spoke only when the need was unavoidable during their hours of study. That was more than perfect in Thranduil's eyes. There were still questions he wanted to ask, but something told him that pressing for answers and searching for understanding of the situation would only bring about more trouble, the last thing he wanted.

"Linwë, you are being unfair. Let me get to my pile of leaves!"

"Move faster, then."

"How can I if you keep pushing me over and burying me with _your_ leaves?"

Thranduil leaned forwards slightly to see the taller of his two friends dump a bundle of yellow and brown foliage atop Veassen's chestnut coloured head, and a small smile turned his lips upwards in unison with the soft exhalation that he released. He supposed there had been enough time alone to contemplate. The decent thing would be to come out of hiding and aid the slighter opponent, but movement from the other side of the clearing froze him in place. Drawing in a breath and holding it, perhaps unnecessarily, he watched through eyes darkened with silent question as Saeldur stepped out from the trees and approached the playing Elflings. His boots upon the forest floor broke no leaves and were light enough to step upon twigs without snapping them, and both children leapt to their feet with barely suppressed gasps of surprise as he coughed meaningfully.

"Where is the Crown Prince?"

Halting Veassen's quiet reply with a flash of green eyes, Linwë folded both arms over his chest and regarded the older Elf with a cool expression upon his face. Although the two rarely shared company for more than a minute, they had disliked each other from the very first meeting some years ago on the journey from Lindon to Greenwood. No reason existed for the mutual animosity; it was simply a clash of personality. "Hmm... We could not tell you that. Well, I suppose we could if your need was dire but we would have to lie."

"Just tell me where I will find him," Saeldur said shortly.

"Sorry."

"We cannot say because we do not know," Veassen explained, casting his friend a sharp sideways glance.

"As I said," Linwë smirked, "sorry."

Saeldur hissed softly at the copper haired boy before turning his gaze upon the smaller Elfling. He made an attempt at softening it; at least a greater amount of respect had been given to him from that corner, although there remained room for improvement. "How can that be, child? You two are rarely apart from my cousin. Were it otherwise, I would be searching elsewhere for him. Now, tell me where he is. I will not repeat myself."

"He is hiding," Veassen said swiftly, paling at the notion of angering a member of the royal family. "That is all we know."

"And that was all I needed; you have my thanks. Perhaps the pair of you would be kind enough to run along and play your little games in a different part of the forest whilst I finish the task you failed to complete. I am sure it cannot be that impossible to find him." Although the boy who had received a moderated tone turned away to obey the instruction, Linwë stood defiantly still with his head held high. It made little difference to the height difference between he and the Prince Regent, and Saeldur leaned down to rest his hands on the insolent child's shoulders. "You have a choice, penneth. You can either give your elder and better the respect he deserves, or you can test the temper of the second in line to the throne of Greenwood and incur the wrath of your parents when word reaches them of your attitude. Oh, wait... I meant to say your brother. You have no parents, do you?"

Hidden in the tree, Thranduil's eyes widened as horror struck him. "Saeldur," he breathed.

The flash of emotion on Linwë's young face gave away the pain conceived by those words of cruelty, but he forced himself to smile calmly as he turned to follow Veassen. "You lost the right to call yourself my better the moment you fouled the name of my mother and father with your tongue. Good day, Your Highness."

Saeldur's gaze was cold as he watched the children out of sight, and it melted not one drop as he flicked his attention away to scan the surrounding trees. "You may show yourself, cousin. Your friends have gone and there is no-one left to play with." His words were met with only silence and stillness for close to a minute. Rather than waste breath for a second time requesting an appearance from his relative, he waited impassively until the branches of a nearby elm shook slightly as their occupant jumped and landed noiselessly upon the ground. "You took time enough. Were you debating slipping away?"

"No. I was debating going after my friend," Thranduil retorted with a bite in his voice. "How could you act so heartlessly? It matters not that you dislike Linwë. You know that he is sensitive where family matters are concerned."

"Do not tire me."

"You grew up without a mother too, Saeldur. Of all Elves, you should understand," the Crown Prince said heatedly. Even as he spoke, realisation dawned upon his face. Although it should have sent him a step away, he moved forwards to confront his cousin. "It is happening again. The madness that took you before is back. You have to push it down, because if you cannot control your actions then I will not be responsible for mine. I _will _go to my father."

"Your father. Hmm, he is not overly pleased with either of us at the moment," Saeldur commented airily. "The feast is in two hours."

"Did you hear what I-

"It is a feast of great importance, held in honour of the forest and to celebrate the turn of seasons. Such a commemoration occurs just a few times each year. As a result, it is imperative that the royal family cannot be seen to have imperfections. We must arrive on time, immaculately turned out and ready to meet the people of Greenwood. You," the raven haired immortal hissed, jabbing a finger against the boy's shoulder, "should have been at the palace over thirty minutes ago to start preparing for tonight."

"I-

"And since we would be in lessons together were this any other day, I am held accountable for you and your whereabouts," Saeldur continued furiously.

"But I-

"And _because _I am supposedly responsible, your father lost his temper with _me_. Thank you_ very _much."

Releasing a soft sigh, the Elfling held his tongue until certain that his angry cousin's tirade was well and truly over and it was safe for him to speak. "I am late unintentionally. I forgot the time. If it will help to shift the blame from your shoulders, I shall explain to the King that I am at fault. Will that suffice?"

"This time. Come with me," Saeldur snarled.

With a single shake of his head, Thranduil help up both hands and backed away from the fingers moving to wrap themselves around his wrist. "No. Not when you are in this mood and so unpredictable. That aside, the words you spoke to Linwë are still clear in my mind. You hurt one of my closest friends, and I cannot share your company so soon after."

"It amuses me that you would use 'unpredictable' to describe my current state of mind." The laugh which flew from the Prince Regent's lips was harshly derisive and loud in the emptiness of the clearing. "Think you that we must walk back to the palace together for something unforeseen to occur? I can _unpredictably _shock you just as easily here."

"You would not dare. Not after last time, what I said..."

"Challenge me and you will regret doing so. I suggest you get yourself home before I lose my patience. You know from personal experience what I do when that happens," Saeldur warned silkily.

Thranduil's eyes flew submissively towards the leafy forest floor, but rage smouldered behind his dark lashes as he replied with feigned repentance in his voice that he would obey and return to the palace without further dispute. As he turned to leave, the angry embers flared. _'I shall do as you tell me, but you just lost your third chance, cousin.'_

* * *

A large map depicting a forest glade and the surrounding areas of woodland lay spread out on the smooth surface of Oropher's desk, held down at the corners by four leather bound books to keep it from curling in on itself. Studying the parchment with the sovereign were three captains in the dark green uniform of Greenwood's army, present to discuss the placement of guards at the coming feast, and his brother, Lord Vehiron, who held the title of Vice-Regent. The identical expressions of irritation worn openly upon five fair faces as a knock on the wooden panels of the door cut into their meeting would have frozen ice itself, and all in the group of Elves turned to glare at whichever hapless individual had taken it upon themselves to disturb the private conference. The autumnal feast was no small matter, and perfection in every aspect of its planning was vital, even with so little time left.

As King Oropher snapped permission for the intruder to enter, the door swung open to reveal a young aide who looked positively terrified at facing his ruler, the third in line to the throne and a trio of warriors. "My Lord," he began warily. "I hope you can forgive the interruption, but there is someone who would see you now. He insisted."

"I have no more appointments today and the feast begins in less than two hours," Oropher sighed. "If you can amend my schedule for tomorrow, I will see him first thing in the morning."

"It is not quite that simple," the Elf continued, paling as a pair of cool green eyes narrowed. "My Lord, it is...your son. The Crown Prince."

"Oh, for the love of..."

"We have no need to continue these talks unless you object," one of the warriors said quietly. "We know where you would have the guards stationed tonight. Leave it in our hands, sir."

Oropher raised both hands in exasperation, letting a feather quill fall lightly atop the map as he leaned back in his chair and waited for the room to empty. "Whatever the child wishes to see me for, I hope it was worth cutting short our meeting with the captains. Although I doubt it, knowing him."

"He may surprise you yet," Vehiron assured his brother. The door opened again, not even half way this time, and a lock of golden hair slipped into sight, slowly followed by eyes brightened in nervous anticipation. "Or perhaps not today."

"So tell me, what is so very important that you demanded entry into my office despite knowing full well that I was not alone?" Oropher questioned his son icily. "Think carefully about your answer before giving it."

"I didn't demand..."

"You were told to think carefully."

Thranduil bit on his lower lip as he closed the door behind him and stepped forwards to stand before the King's desk. It had never looked so imposing. "I would like to talk about... Well, may we speak alone? Privately?"

"We may not," Oropher replied shortly.

"If you wish for time together," Vehiron began, "I should start preparing for the feast as it is."

Giving his brother a brief look, the dark haired ruler shook his head dismissively. "No. You need not leave on my son's account. If he is willing to walk in on a room of Elves whilst they are engaged in conversation, he should not fear addressing me before one other."

_Ada, you have not even heard what I want to say. Please give me a chance. _"It is my lessons," Thranduil murmured. Inspiration struck, and he chanced a look at the two older immortals. Their faces were eerily unreadable. "I think it would be best if my mother was here too, but I don't know where to find her. I did look."

"She is in the kitchens. Or so she was, the last I heard, overseeing the food preparation. You know her culinary standards are impossibly high." Vehiron smiled slightly, although worry that not all was well with his son and nephew prevented it from reaching his eyes. "I shall bring her, if you need her present."

"Ensure you return," Oropher told his brother. "This will concern you too."

The only child present had fallen silent, and he waited for the soft click of the closing door before taking a step forwards in earnest. What he was about to say would devastate his uncle. He could not see the look of sadness and disappointment that his words would surely conceive. "Ada, my lessons... I want to tell you first of all that I am sorry. I know this will frustrate you, but I have to... I don't want them anymore."

"What did you say?"

"That I don't want to have them anymore," Thranduil muttered. He hated being forced to repeat himself, when he was well aware that his father had heard perfectly well. "I want you to find me another tutor before Saeldur's time with me is over, because he... The lessons are not going as I thought they would."

"I was under the impression, given by yourself, that there were no problems," Oropher countered slowly. "I have seen the work you do, and although you may not hear it from me often, I think that you are doing well. Whilst I have nothing unpleasant to say about your previous teacher and his methods, you have swiftly improved under your cousin's tutelage and you told us that you enjoyed studying with him."

"Yes, I did. But that was before..." A silent breath was released, and Thranduil wished desperately that he had put given this more consideration. Threatening to reveal the secret had been easy enough, but doing so – or trying to do so – had suddenly made his mouth run dry. "Everything is different now."

"Why?"

The Elfling could not help but wince at his father's dangerously low voice. It did not bode well for him. "Ada, I am sorry. I don't know how to explain this. Saeldur is a good tutor and he is knowledgeable and clever and... I even understand the work he sets for me, but he has changed over the last few weeks. I don't like it. I don't like the way that he treats me."

"You had best _find _a way to explain it," Oropher said sharply.

"I... He..." Thranduil struggled for the right words, having to bite hard on his lower lip to keep from revealing all that had happened just a short while ago. No mention had been made of his lateness to begin preparing for the feast. He silently wondered if his cousin had concocted that piece of information just for the hold it would have given him. "Ada, if I make Saeldur angry, he..."

"What?" Oropher snapped. "Out with it!"

"He hits me."

The Elven ruler's green eyes flew up, and he stared at his son in silent shock as the words resounded loudly inside his head. "What do you mean by that? He 'hits' you?"

"Yes." Thranduil paused. "Do you believe me?"

"I cannot recall the last time you lied to me, so I should have no reason to doubt you now, but... What you have said, it is not small or a matter to be taken lightly. I don't know..." Oropher shook his head slowly. "When has your cousin struck you? Why? Out of anger? Tell me."

"It is when I have done something to test his patience, so I think that maybe he does it as punishment," the Prince replied uncertainly. "I will be honest, because I know you would want that and I in turn want you to trust me. He has raised his hand to me only once, but he has threatened me and loses his temper."

"In your lessons?"

"I... Yes."

Oropher let out a deep exhale of breath as he spread his hands helplessly. "If that is so, I can only speak with him about this if you truly consider it to be a serious enough matter. In your hours of study, Saeldur is not only a teacher but your guardian too. You are his responsibility, and he has the right to discipline you as he sees fit."

"What?" Thranduil breathed. "No..."

"I told him so before he started tutoring you, and I made it very clear that if he had to administer any form of punishments they would be acceptable and within the boundaries of what any child would receive," Oropher interjected. "He knows that if he hurts you, I will stop the lessons myself and he will be faced with my wrath."

"Will you stop them now?"

"Has he hurt you?"

Thranduil had expected that question to be thrown at him, and he cast his mind back over the few weeks gone past that had seen a drastic change in the cousin he had thought he knew well. What fell into the category of being hurt? Pricking one's finger with a needle? A scalding from the bottom of a hot plate? Receiving a slap from a mother or father who has only their child's interests at heart? Or perhaps being pushed against a wall or thrown to the ground for a reason known only to the one responsible. The young Prince pushed a hand through his hair, momentarily forgetting Oropher's presence as his heart sank painfully. Whilst Saeldur's actions may have been violent ones, none had done him damage or caused lasting pain. Even being struck across the face that night in the pouring rain had affected him purely because it had been an unexpected shock. He was not a liar. He had to give an honest answer. _I have to..._

"No."

"No?"

"He has not hurt me."

Oropher leaned back in his chair with a shake of his head. He wanted to help the boy, but confronted with such unsupported allegations rendered him at a loss. "In that case, I can and will do nothing. You must continue your lessons with Saeldur and I do not want to hear any more complaints. Ai, must you look so injured? The discussion has ended. You finished it yourself. Now go and get ready for the feast."

"You don't understand," Thranduil said quietly. "Saeldur and I have never been good friends, and I don't want to ruin the relationship that we had before. I am afraid that will happen if I don't stop studying under him."

"Why do you do this?" Oropher hissed. "Your first tutor left without a day of notice, and you got yourself out of that predicament by convincing me to appoint your cousin as a new teacher. Even that was not enough to please you. Are you doing it just to spite me, to spite your mother?"

"No! I-

"I do not care what your motives are, child. They will not change anything. You need to learn and accept that life does not revolve around you. It will not stop if your every whim and need is not catered for," the King cut in coldly. "I watched Saeldur grow up, and despite the immature faults he did have, I know that your uncle never had this trouble. Have you been so spoilt?"

"I don't understand why you are angry with me," Thranduil cried. "All I am guilty of is telling you my feelings, and that isn't wrong."

As his young son kicked at the floor in a moment of childish frustration, Oropher was at his side in an instant. He caught a delicately pointed ear between his fingers and twisted it until the boy flinched. "It may be a special day in the forest, but do not make the mistake of thinking that I will tolerate that attitude from you. Were you older, I swear you would be face down on that desk and about to feel the sting of my belt. As it is, you should consider yourself _very _lucky."

"Stop," Thranduil whispered, trying to turn his head to hide the frightened tears that had pooled in his eyes. "Ada, please. You are hurting me."

"After that display of temper, it comes as no surprise to me that Saeldur becomes angry with you," Oropher retorted, jerking his hand free.

"Saeldur's patience snaps as easily as yours." Father and son turned to see Queen Felith in the doorway, the cornflower orbs of her eyes blazing as she took in the scene before her. "Thank the Valar I told your brother that he need not accompany me here. What are you thinking? I hope for your sake that the explanation you can give me is as acceptable as the one you would demand from our child."

"I too am glad that Vehiron chose to listen to you rather than me. It would seem that I was wrong with my earlier words," the King said, cooling his eyes slightly as they moved onto his wife. "I foolishly thought Thranduil would have something of importance to say, but... Well, you will see for yourself."

Felith glanced at the pale face of her only Elfling and gently pulled him back to stand at her side, hoping that her maternal touch would offer comfort enough. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me hear the same words as you have, then we can decide together the value of them."

"I will happily tell you, but believe me when I say that this is more trouble than it is worth. The boy is unhappy with his lessons and wants a new tutor. Forgive me, _another _new tutor," Oropher amended grimly. "Thranduil, perhaps you would care to elaborate for your mother. No? Allow me, then. He wishes us to stop the lessons with Saeldur because he is not prepared to accept punishment for wrongdoings. That is the second reason I am glad Vehiron did not return here, as I asked him. I would not have him listen to his son being accused of hurting _our _son." Oropher rounded on the child, the pools of his eyes like green flames as anger overtook him. "If a slap every now and again is what it takes to keep you in line, so be it."

"Oropher!" Felith gasped. "You lose your temper with the wrong Elf. We should be taking this seriously."

"I took it _very _seriously until he contradicted his allegation by saying Saeldur has never hurt him!" the King exploded, throwing a hand in his son's direction. "Perhaps you should ask him to see for yourself. Then make your decision."

Glaring at her husband through eyes made cold by maternal emotions, Felith leaned down to level her gaze with Thranduil's. She had not seen him cry in a long while, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him close and kiss away the drops of sadness wetting his cheeks. "Tell me, starling. If you are afraid, there is no need. You can say anything to me. You know that."

The Crown Prince held his mother's gaze as she tenderly brushed away a tear, trying hard not to see his father standing behind her. "I do know it, Nana," he breathed. "And if there was something I should tell you... I was wrong to raise this with you and Ada. The lessons are fine. I overreacted, and...and I am sorry."

"You see? A waste of time," Oropher concluded, watching his wife straighten and nod reluctantly. "As for you, Thranduil, you will not be attending the feast tonight. Make an appearance for the meal, as is expected, but you are forbidden from staying for the songs and dancing. I do not wish to see your face for any longer than is necessary this evening. You have successfully proven yourself untrustworthy today, and I will not forget that for a long time. And if you insist upon losing your temper with me and stamping your foot like a spoilt brat, you can expect there to be unpleasant circumstances. Just be glad that losing a privilege is all you are receiving this time."

Tears of rage and frustration swam in Thranduil's eyes, and nothing he did was enough to banish them. Developments had not upset him. He took pride in knowing that he was not one of those Elflings who cried at every small thing, but the crushing blow of such injustice was too much for even him to remain impassive. "If that is your wish," he said unsteadily, "you will not see me tonight. I shall do as you would have me."

"Good. You may start now." Oropher's voice was painfully cold as he pointed towards the door. "Leave."

It was with a sharp breath of grief that the Elf-child spun on his heel to obey the instruction, and Felith waited until she was alone with her husband before stepping forwards and thrusting an elegant finger into his face. "You should not have... How dare you...? " Too furious to construct the sentence she wanted, she pulled her hand back and raked it through the long strands of her golden hair, an action of anguish and angry despair. "When did you become-

"What?" Oropher snapped. "When did I become what?"

Shaking her head slowly, Felith moved to the other side of the room with her gaze coloured in shades of sadness. She paused at the door, and looked over her shoulder to meet her husband's green eyes. "When did you become cruel?"

* * *

As bowls and empty plates were taken away after an evening of feasting, and tables and chairs were moved to the sides of the large glade to make room for dancers, Thranduil stared miserably at his own reflection shimmering up at him from the goblet of red fruit cordial held loosely in his hands. He had not taken advantage of the plentiful meal, neglecting most of the rich food in favour of soothing his hurt pride and wishing that he could somehow go back in time and try once more to fight his case. None of it mattered now anyway. He would have to leave soon. Then the morning would arrive all too swiftly and he would be faced with a day of lessons and the Valar only knew what else. He looked forward to that even less than he had liked the prospect of wearing a smile and being ready with a laugh for the people of Greenwood when all he wanted was to be alone with his tumultuous emotions.

"Ada, the meal is over," he said quietly, brushing his fingers against the sleeve of his father's robe.

Oropher's eyes travelled down to rest on the morose face of his young son, and he nodded in concurrence with the statement. "I see that. However, I fail to understand why you would take it upon yourself to point out something so blindingly clear."

"I have to go home," Thranduil replied carefully, wondering if that had been an attempt at catching him out. "You said that I could not stay for the singing and dancing because of... Well, because of what happened this afternoon. Am I alright to return alone or should I wait for someone to take me back?"

"Neither."

"I don't understand..."

"Your mother spoke words after you left my office that have stayed with me since," Oropher explained softly. "It would seem that perhaps I was too hard on you today. As you said yourself, all you did was confide in me your feelings. I want you to feel confident that you can come to me and be listened to, but sometimes I make it difficult for you. Is that not so?"

Thranduil looked down at the tabletop, considering the question. He did not want to ruin the moment by giving an incorrect response. "At times it is as though I am not allowed to feel the same emotions as my friends or let myself be as close to you as they are with their parents. That is not your fault. It is just because of who I am."

"I would not have you think such things. You are different and some aspects of your life cannot be the same, but not those you mentioned," the King answered, ending the sentence with a sigh at his son's ideas. "If it will make anything easier for you, I will try harder to appear more approachable. You can help that. Whilst you are not overly troublesome, you know as well as I that there is room for improvement. Do not promise to never anger me again, because that vow has been spoken before and will be again. Just tell me you will try a little harder too, then we can avoid incidents similar to the one we had this afternoon. I am willing to forget that on this occasion."

Although he nodded happily and returned the smile given by his father, Thranduil's few seconds of pleasure evaporated at movement a few seats down the table. He watched as Saeldur rose and came closer, stopping now and again to make conversation or a jest that did not fail to bring laughter, and the light blue pools of his eyes darkened angrily. Trust his cousin to act as though all was well, as though nothing had changed between them. It was easy for him. He was not the victim.

"The night is going well," the Prince Regent said as he reached the chairs occupied by his family members. "And I mistook the food for Aunt Felith's, so delicious was it."

Turning from discussion with a friend of noble birth to the left of her, the fair Queen gave a brief smile. "Flattery will get you nothing. Learn that and it will serve you well in life, especially with ladies."

"I thank you for the advice," Saeldur grinned. "With the dancing about to commence, I will take my leave for a while. Would you care to join me, cousin? Perhaps we can find you a pretty maiden somewhere out there."

Thranduil raised his eyes to hold the older Elf's laughing pools of green, silently refusing to return _that _smile. "Thank you, but my interest does not lie in dancing and music. I am content to watch for the time being." _And hope that you make a fool of yourself._

"Who do you have your mind on, nephew?" Oropher questioned.

"Ah, wait and see," Saeldur replied cryptically. "Wait and see."

A touch on his arm caught Thranduil's attention and he looked up to see his cousin vanished and his father waiting expectantly. "Forgive me, I was...thinking. Did you say something?" He had let his thoughts drift elsewhere to avoid listening to the frustrating normalcy and joviality of that conversation.

"I did. The relationship you and he have is not as poor as you think," Oropher repeated. "You have differences, but I challenge you to show me two Elves who do not. He cares for you, and that will not change just because he gives you lessons. I deem that your worries are for nothing."

Thranduil was spared from forcing himself to agree by the arrival of another dark haired Elf, similar in appearance to both the King and Prince Regent. "Uncle Vehiron," he acknowledged softly, silently thanking the older immortal for such a timely appearance. "Are you going to dance too?"

"Perhaps after some more wine, penneth," Vehiron replied with a smile. "But tell me, what did I hear about you and a pretty maiden?"

Disgust flashed across the Elfling's face, and Oropher gave a short laugh as his son busied himself with the vessel of cordial once more. "Not quite yet, although I have no doubts that it will be just a matter of time before the ladies start to fall at his feet and he enjoys the attention."

"Why would they fall?" Thranduil asked innocently.

The King shared a glance with his brother before looking out over the large feasting glade, the Elves beginning to dance to a merry tune struck up by the minstrels and the many different shades of clothing which came together to form a pattern akin to that found on the wing of a butterfly. "Never mind, ion-nín. So tell me, Vehiron... On whom does your son have designs? I hope you have been given a greater degree of enlightenment than this corner."

"Not exactly. You know that Elf is secretive enough one would think he had something to hide," the dark haired Lord retorted. "Although, I see his friend down there is keeping a tight hold upon him."

Following his uncle's amused gaze, Thranduil watched Saeldur wrap an arm around the slim waist of a maiden at the far end of the glade. "They appear to be more than friends," he muttered.

"Very perceptive indeed," Oropher said, casting the child a look of barely concealed surprise. "And however correct I think you may be, I would advise you to remain silent about the girl until your cousin chooses to speak of her himself. Not all courting couples are comfortable with interrogations."

Ignoring those words and the jest from Vehiron that the monarch had all this to come with his own son, the child in question studied the object of Saeldur's attention through darkened eyes. She appeared close in age to his relative, although one could never tell with Elves, with waist length hair of obsidian, blacker even than the Prince Regent's inky tresses. She was tall, slender as a willow, and garbed in a midnight blue gown that shimmered in the moonlight. Thranduil supposed she was beautiful in a striking way, but something felt...wrong. No matter how he tried to distract himself from the rosebud shape of her doll's mouth and the way one slender hand lingered on Saeldur's arm, it was as though he had become trapped in the jaws of a snare, unable to escape from the feeling that not all was as it seemed.

Going so far as to turn away entirely proved fruitless, for a musical peal of laughter like bells pulled Thranduil back around in an instant. He watched the maiden toss her head prettily at something uttered by his cousin; and as her smile revealed a flash of pearly white teeth, the pools of her eyes caught and held his. They were violet in the light from up above, a stranger hue of blue than any he had seen before, and they stood out a mile against the blackness of her hair. Something shone blindingly bright within the deep irises, but it made no difference that the young Prince of Greenwood fought desperately to understand dislike and fear washing over him. Comprehension was not given to him, just undeniable knowledge that the woman was-

"I think we shall be meeting this girl sooner than we thought."

Snapped from dark reverie by the sound of his uncle's voice, Thranduil blinked in surprise. So entangled in a web of confusion had he been that the steady approach of Saeldur and his maiden friend had gone wholly unnoticed. Flicking his gaze away, the boy focused it on a minstrel with a strange looking stringed instrument. He did not want to speak with the Elf-lady, or even look at her. Every instinct inside of him screamed warning. Against what he could not know if his life was dependant on a correct answer, but he was not prepared to ignore feelings of such strength.

"If I could have your attention for a moment, there is someone I would like you all to meet," the Prince Regent announced as he drew close to the high table. He guided the woman forwards with a gentle touch upon her back, giving her a small smile which she returned almost nervously. "This is Almiris. She lives in a settlement further north. We stumbled upon each other whilst I was taking a walk through the forest."

"It is an honour to meet you after so long catching mere glimpses from afar and hearing Saeldur speak of you," Almiris said respectfully, spreading her skirts as she curtsied to the royals.

"His tales are all good, I hope," Oropher replied. "Let me assure you that anything unsavoury you may have heard is not true."

The black haired lady released a soft breath of laughter at the words, although she caught herself a second later as though unsure whether they had been meant in jest or not. She looked out of her depth surrounded by the full royal family, the confidence she had displayed whilst alone with the Prince Regent suddenly vanished. "Your Highness, I would not think anything poor of you... That is, Saeldur has said nothing..."

"Are you nervous?" Vehiron asked, leaning forwards to study his son's interest.

"My background is a common one," Almiris replied quietly.

"As was ours." Although Felith did not seem to have forgotten the incident with Oropher and Thranduil earlier in the afternoon, nor the retracted allegation that Saeldur had used force to control her child, she smiled gently at the younger woman to put her at ease. "You need not fear that we are terrible demons to run from. We are quite friendly. Come, sit with us. After these initial introductions I would very much like to discuss your gown with you. The colour is beautiful. Wine?"

Vehiron raised his eyes skywards at his sister-in-law's typically feminine words. "Before you engross yourselves in clothing conversation, perhaps the males present could have a moment longer. I hope you can forgive us for having little interest in that area. And besides, Thranduil has not yet spoken with Almiris."

_Thank you for that, Uncle. _The Crown Prince's back had been turned, and he moved to face the other Elves with a suitably convincing expression of surprise upon his face. "Forgive me, I was not aware... It is nice to meet you." Many words far superior to 'nice' drifted through his mind, but he shrugged imperceptibly. He would not grace this maiden who gave him such chills with anything more if he could escape with the bare minimum.

"The feeling is quite mutual," Almiris smiled. "Your cousin tells me much of you too."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Am I correct in saying it is you he will be tutoring until he wishes to rejoin the army?" Accepting a crystalline glass of wine from Vehiron, the lady nodded graciously. "Thank you. I must say that it was very decent of you to consider Saeldur and think of him as you did after the accident. It is lucky indeed that you and he are friends. I imagine many relatives would be unable to suffer each other's presence for such a time."

"I felt badly at the time, although of course we argue on occasion which can make me regret my act of kindness," Thranduil answered, smiling coolly to indicate that the words could be meant both in jest and seriousness. "You were not quite right in all you said. I am to be his student until his recovery is complete as opposed to when he chooses to take up his weapons again, so perhaps it will not be too long before I have a different tutor."

As Almiris gave a nod of understanding, Saeldur affectionately tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Why would you ask if he is the one I am teaching? You know I have just one cousin."

"Leave her, nephew," Felith admonished sharply. "It is no comfortable thing to meet the family of your suitor."

"Oh no, I am the one at fault. I should have phrased the question differently. Of course I knew the answer," Almiris said, her pale cheeks flushing. "It was silly of me."

Regarding the maiden through cold eyes, Thranduil felt a rush of contempt for her innocent laughter and the look of adoration on his cousin's face. She was false, nothing more than a talented actress who was hiding her true self behind a facade of charm. It frustrated him that the rest of his family were suddenly blind to something that was right in front of them. "Yes, it was 'silly' of you. Perhaps you can take my place and have some lessons yourself. Or, are you already receiving them from him?"

"Thranduil!" Vehiron and Saeldur snapped in unison.

"Such foolish comments will be met with ridicule," the Prince retorted, steadily meeting Almiris' violet gaze.

"By the Valar, what is wrong with you today?" Oropher demanded. "Your behaviour is certainly opening my eyes and showing me truths I did not expect to see in any child of mine. I should not have given you a second chance by allowing you to stay for the dancing. Go back to the palace _now_. Ensure you have a good night of sleep, because I will want you in my office early tomorrow morning. Go, get out of our sight."

Felith caught the look upon her son's face that clearly said he cared not as he jumped away from the table without a word, and she released a long breath of weariness. "I am so very sorry for his attitude towards you, Almiris. At most other times you can be assured I would rebuke my husband for speaking harshly to Thranduil, but there are no excuses on this occasion. All I can say is that it is becoming late, he must be tired."

"That was an excuse," Oropher said quietly, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head slowly. "He was wrong to treat a friend of Saeldur's as he did."

"Please, I have not been offended by his words. I understand that children react differently than adults," Almiris replied, waving a slender hand dismissively. "Is he always so forward?"

Leaning forwards to refill the maiden's empty goblet of wine, Felith shared a look with her husband. "Not exactly. But come, I am sure you do not wish for the petty trials of an Elfling to intrude upon your evening. Sit with me. I would know where you found the material for your gown. The shade is a perfect compliment for your eyes, and..."

"So tell me..." As the Queen of Greenwood turned away with Almiris and his brother distanced himself from the conversation with deep thoughts, Vehiron studied his son in silence for a moment, considering developments. "I saw your fingers entwined with hers. Are you two...? Are you...?"

"What would you know, Adar?" Saeldur asked, hiding a smile. "To save you from asking the question you cannot seem to voice, I will give you an answer. Yes, she and I are more than just friends. As I said, we came across each other in the forest and she has been constant in her support. If I become dispirited and wish for my days with the other warriors, she stops my heart from falling too far. I am more than grateful to her for that alone."

Vehiron drank from his goblet of wine, and made a gesture with his free hand. "Yes. I see why you would. However, since we left Lindon and arrived in the forest our lives have changed significantly. In that kingdom you had freedom... Or at least, you had no duty or obligation to anyone. Here you are a Prince of Greenwood, and there are certain...practices that you can no longer indulge in. If you find a woman now, she has to be one that you are prepared to spend eternity with."

"Certain _practices_?" Saeldur repeated scornfully. "I would never treat a lady... You think that of me? That I would use Almiris for her body and then move on to the next maiden?"

"I did not say that, but you are a young Elf," Vehiron replied, his voice even. "Almiris cannot be a simple conquest, if that is all you intend. Our people will know, and that too is not something we can allow to happen."

"Then I will marry her!"

"You do not mean that."

"No. But just so that you know for the future, she is no conquest of mine. We have been courting for more than a few weeks now," Saeldur said icily. "The people of Greenwood do not know that piece of information. And I do not appreciate my honour being questioned by you, nor my cousin humiliating the lady I-

"Love?" Vehiron finished. "Don't do it to yourself. Not yet, not so soon after meeting her. Just...be careful."

The Prince Regent sat in silence, his eyes narrowed to slits as he brought his breathing under control and fought to suppress the waves of anger washing over him. It was not an easy task. "If you have nothing more to say to me, Adar, I shall be leaving now. Goodnight." With that final word he was on his feet and striding away from his father and the high table, the light within his emerald gaze raging like a wildfire.

* * *

**TBC**

**Updates will now be fortnightly rather than weekly. ****Thank you to ****Calenlass**** Greenleaf1 and my anonymous reviewer for taking the time to leave feedback. **


	5. Behind the Falls

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I have become the co-owner of a fairly recent LOTR Fanfiction group. The idea behind it is to encourage writers to post their stories and receive positive feedback and constructive criticism whilst reading other great stories and having the chance to take part in polls, challenges and fic exchanges. If you are interested in joining, either send me a PM or visit the link on my page to head on over to the group. If you happen to know anyone else who might be interested in a new place to read and post their own work, please pass on the word!

**Chapter 5**

Autumn sun cast her rays timidly into Thranduil's sleeping chamber, but he remained oblivious to the watery brightness as he stood at the closed balcony doors and stared out at the green scenery stretching for miles around without really seeing any of it. He had slept poorly the previous night, and the few dreams granted to him had been full of raven haired women and high pitched laughter. A number of hours lying in the darkness and thinking of events at the feast had done nothing to sway his mind. If anything, his feelings of dislike had only intensified. He would gladly admit to being wrong about Saeldur teaching him for just a short while if it meant that he could confide in one Elf and have his instincts believed. Almiris was... A single word had been playing again and again in his mind, but the force of it was so much that he was unsure he could utter it even with his contempt for the woman.

Turning with a sigh, the young Prince went towards the desk at the side of his bed and set about preparing his books for the lessons to come with Saeldur. It would do him no good to be late for those, more so than ever after the way he had acted last night, and he had not a single doubt that he would be closeted in his father's office for some time. Another exhalation swiftly followed the first, deeper this time. Oropher had implied only yesterday in a fit of anger that he was nearing the point of taking a belt to his son; perhaps the scene he had witnessed at the celebration had been enough to push him over the fine line between threats and action. Thranduil closed his eyes as the idea occurred to him. He was raised strictly, but not to such a degree that extreme measures of punishment had ever played a part in his upbringing. He could not help but be terrified that things would change today.

As he searched for a book written on the subject of flora and fauna, the door to his room opened sharply and he spun around with a soft gasp. "Ada... Am I late?" Panic swept through him at the notion. "I thought you were to see me in your office."

"That was last night," Oropher said shortly, closing the door with the heel of his boot.

Silence fell, and Thranduil shifted uncomfortably as he waited for his father to continue. Cold green eyes like polished gems were fixed upon him, unreadable and almost too much for him to meet. He wondered if the King expected him to speak. He had to. The quiescence was becoming stifling; he did not think he could bear another minute of it. "You have come about the feast and what I said. I don't know if it will make any difference, but I'm-

"I do not wish to hear it."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no... I mean..." The boy looked away, briefly closing his eyes. Only the Elf standing before him now could steal away his confidence as though it had never existed in the first place.

"The reason your apology will mean nothing to me is because I know why you treated Almiris in such a way," Oropher said, his voice low.

Thranduil's gaze flew back to his father as surprise danced openly across his face. Could it be that he had not been the only one to sense the woman's strangeness, as he had been so convinced of? The idea that someone who meant so much to him and had power enough to be listened to without question believed what he did was overwhelming, and he found himself wanting to laugh in relief. "You know? Do you mean to say that you felt it too?"

"I have no knowledge of whatever it may be that you speak of, but I see now the reasoning behind your behaviour last night. It came to me this morning in a flash of inspiration." Although Oropher spoke conversationally, the hardness in his eyes belied the truth of his thoughts. "You told me yesterday that Saeldur has used unfair force against you, an allegation which I did not believe even before you voluntarily withdrew it. You resent that. You thought that perhaps if you could make your cousin angry enough, he might strike out with your mother and I as witnesses?"

"What? No, I didn't-

"Tell me one thing: what has Saeldur done to deserve this persecution? Why have you taken it upon yourself to try your hardest to damage him?" Without waiting for a reply from his stunned child, the dark haired ruler pressed on with his judgement. "I am not going to punish you for last night. The Valar know I should, but instead I am going to give in to what you want. Not because I would give you your wish, but because I want a stop put to this folly. Some of your lessons will be overseen; then we will decide if Saeldur's disciplinary methods are too much."

"He will do nothing if he is being watched," Thranduil said quietly.

"The observations will be done without his knowledge," Oropher answered, turning towards the door. "Yours too."

As he was left alone without even a frosty word of goodbye, the Crown Prince pulled his books close to his chest and passed a moment in silence before following the same path his father had taken. The lessons that morning were to be held outside for a study of leaves and woodland creatures, and he played absently with the silver brooch holding his cloak in place as he made his way down to the front of the palace and out of the large courtyard past liveried guards and soldiers moving between stations. Turning his thoughts onto a meaningless matter was preferable to recalling the talk with Oropher. The plummeting of his heart after hearing that he had spoken coldly to Almiris purely for his own benefit still hurt minutes after the initial drop. _No, you must not think about that. Letting __yourself__ remember it will not change anything. Just move on. Move on and get ready for the next hurdle_

The words were no sooner conceived in his mind than he entered the clearing in which he would study and came face to face with not only his cousin but Almiris too. He almost stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her, but he lifted his chin stubbornly and walked past her to stand a short distance in front of Saeldur. "If I am late, you may speak with my father. I was with him."

"Was it your behaviour last night that was the subject of discussion? Good. I hope he gave you a suitable punishment. Now, tell me what time your lessons start. You may well have been with the King, but you should have considered that I would be waiting for you too," the Prince Regent berated his student. No answer came, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Well? What time? Are you going to give me an answer?"

"No."

"Fifteen minutes ago," Saeldur snapped, striding forwards and knocking the defiant child's books onto the ground. "Pick those up! I am not going to press you for an apology for your lateness today, but I _will _hear you atone for the way you addressed Almiris at the feast. It will be safer for you to obey me swiftly, believe that."

Thranduil did. He opened his mouth to adhere to the order, but he stopped himself from speaking as he realised that he was kneeling at his cousin's feet still gathering the items that had been hit away from him. He would not issue any form of verbal amendment in such a submissive position; he silently refused to, but it was as though his mind had been read. Furious green eyes flashed warning at him, and a hard hand snaked down to rest on his shoulder, holding him in place. He was still certain that such strength should not be found in the older Elf with the shooting lying just eight weeks in the past. Any other immortal would have healed shortly after gaining such an injury, but he had been so sure that the venom on the tip of the arrow would render its victim weakened for a number of months. Had he known otherwise, he would never have supported the idea of being taught by-

"Apologise," Saeldur reiterated quietly.

"I..." Thranduil bit hard on his lip, struggling to keep his own hot temper at bay. "I am sorry."

"Do not address your words to me. I could not care less. Speak to Almiris," the dark haired Prince commanded. "After all, it was she to whom you were so very unpleasant. She deserves an apology."

"No."

"No?"

"I will not!"

Saeldur pulled his young cousin into a standing position and dragged him forwards to where Almiris was watching in silence. "Tell her you are sorry," he hissed. "Tell her now! Do it, or so help me I will-

"Get your hands off me," Thranduil hissed. "Let go, because I swear that I will call for help and everyone will see how it is that you really treat me when we are alone. It is not an idle threat! I will reveal our secret if I am still in your grip after five seconds."

"Just you try, and it will not be a simple slap that I give you."

"I will display the marks and-

"Boys, do not fight so violently on my account," Almiris cut in silkily. "We will not succeed in achieving anything if all you can do is threaten each other and lose your tempers. Saeldur, release the boy. You are hurting him."

"He needs to be taught a lesson," the Prince Regent snarled. "Clearly his father did not deal with him appropriately."

Meeting the angry words with a soft touch upon Saeldur's arm, Almiris leaned down to level her violet eyes with the light blue ones of the only child present. She pressed her fingers against his cheek, pretending not to notice as he jerked away. "Thranduil, you do not like me. I understand that. You are jealous of my close friendship with your cousin, and you fear that I will take him from your family. That is not true. My intentions are good, and you need to believe that unless you wish to spend all of your life feeling nothing but animosity towards me. Is that what you want? To hate me forever?"

"I want you to leave Saeldur alone," Thranduil whispered.

"I am afraid that will not happen. He and I have been friends for some weeks now, and those feelings of close companionship are slowly but surely turning into much more," Almiris said softly. "Nothing can stand in the way of love."

"You don't love him," the Crown Prince countered, angry desperation creeping into his voice. "His father loves him, my parents love him and even I love him. But you...you don't. You can _never _love him as his family does, and the sooner he realises that, the sooner all of this will stop. If it is true that he has been with you for weeks, that would be close to the time that has passed since he changed and everything went wrong between us. I cannot prove it, but you are the cause. I know it, I just know..."

"I can try to love him as you do," Almiris answered. She gave a small smile, and straightened so that the Elfling had to look up to reach her gaze with his. "You are a jealous and possessive child, and I fear that perhaps you have been spoilt. But you need to know and understand that you do not own your cousin. You may be the next in line to the throne of Greenwood, but you cannot dictate his life. If you continue trying to rule it, you may lose him forever. Then you will be sorry."

Saeldur stepped forwards and wrapped an arm around the maiden's waist, though his eyes were fixed upon his relative. "You do not want that. Now, we are going for a ride in the forest. Your lessons are put off until tomorrow, although you may make a start collecting some woodland specimens ready for the morning if you wish to start putting yourself back on my good side. In fact, I would be sure to follow that advice."

Thranduil nodded his assent, and could only watch helplessly as the dark haired Elves left through the trees. When they were nearly out of sight, Almiris looked back over her shoulder and flashed a smile, her red lips parting to reveal sharply defined teeth that shone a brilliant white. The child could not help but shiver; they reminded him of the deadly jaws of a predator. Letting his books fall once more and sinking onto the leafy forest floor with them to bury his head in both hands, he knew that predatory was an appropriate word to put upon his cousin's lady. She was most certainly carnivorous. With a deep sigh that spoke only too well of tumultuous feelings and emotions, Thranduil stared hard at the leaves beneath him until the shades of brown and red and yellow coalesced to make a blurred hue to play games with his eyes.

"No lessons today?"

The Crown Prince blinked as a voice cut into his thoughts, and perfect vision was restored to him in an instant as he looked up from the multitude of colours to see his closest companions watching him from the edge of the clearing. "No, I... What gave it away?"

"Not much, just that you are comfortably on the floor with your books thrown down disrespectfully enough to make a scholar faint. That and we saw your cousin walking through the forest with the maiden from the feast," Linwë shrugged. "Two and two, my friend."

"I suppose it would make sense." Thranduil smiled gratefully as the other Elflings sat with him, the three of them forming a small circle in the middle of the clearing. "If you saw Almiris last night, you must have witnessed events at the high table. It was quite an eventful evening for us."

"We were not aware that was her name, but we did see and hear the goings on with you and your family," Veassen replied, casting his royal friend a disapproving look. "And if what your father said is true about your behaviour and being given a second chance, you must have done something already to be on his bad side. One would think that enough to warn you against angering him further, but clearly you lost your common sense somewhere between the palace and the feasting glade."

"You think I get myself in a lot of trouble, but even I know where the line is," Linwë continued with the chiding. "And there I was thinking that you were the second most sensible out of us."

Flashing the auburn haired boy a sideways glance, Thranduil picked up some leaves and let them drift through his fingers to settle once more amongst their fellows. "I would very much like to pass at least an hour of this day without _somebody _bringing up the events of last night. I have had it from my father and cousin, which was expected, but I thought you two would... Wait, if you saw and heard what was happening at the high table, does that mean...?"

"It was only us," Veassen assured him. "We crept behind the trees to get your attention when you started your campaign against Almira...Almiria...her."

"Almiris."

"Aye."

Thranduil nodded slowly. "Do you think that I was wrong to say what I did?"

"That would depend on your reasoning, and we have no idea of what that might be," Linwë pointed out.

"No, I suppose you don't. You know that of all the Elves in Greenwood it is you two I trust the most, but even here in your company I am hesitant to tell you because I fear your derision," the Crown Prince sighed. "If you say that I am wrong, I fear I might explode from frustration as I know that I... Very well. We met Almiris for the first time last night, but before Saeldur brought her to the table I saw them on the far side of the glade. I met her eyes, and I felt suddenly cold. The strangest feelings of hate and something close to fear came over me. I could not explain them or understand why they existed, but they only grew as she came closer and I was face to face with her. I felt them because of her. I don't know if it was something she did or something within her, but she..."

"What are you trying to say?" Linwë asked quietly.

Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil glanced around as though confirming that the subject of their discussion was well and truly out of hearing. "She is evil."

"Evil." Veassen tugged absently on one of his thin braids as he considered the strength of that description. "You know that is a great word. It should not be used lightly. I am unsure that you truly-

"I do mean it."

"But you cannot even explain yourself," the brown haired Elfling said, exasperation tinting his voice. "If there was a reason..."

As silence fell, Linwë leaned forwards to clasp Thranduil's shoulder and give a small smile of reassurance. "I believe you. Not just because I dislike your cousin and think this is a perfect way to get back at him for the comment he made about my parents yesterday, but I don't think it matters that there is no understanding of your feelings. It is instinct, yes? My brother always tells me to trust my instinct, as it is a natural power of intuition given to each individual at birth and we would not be gifted with it if was damaging in any way. Those were his words, not mine, but I agree with him. If your instinct speaks to you, it would be foolish to ignore it. So even if Veassen is doubtful, I most certainly am not."

"Thank you," Thranduil murmured.

"Are you making a jest, Linwë? Are you really going to reach a decision like that based on some book read by your brother that could have been nonsense, for all we know? This Almiris could be a pleasant lady, if only she was given a chance," Veassen said incredulously. Sharp eyes of blue and green turned upon him, and he held up both hands quickly. "All I mean by that is you have spoken no more than four sentences to her, Thranduil. And you have not even met her, Linwë. Would either of you like to be persecuted so unfairly?"

The Crown Prince of Greenwood shook his head evenly. No, he would not. "This is different. I may not know what it means, but I am all too aware of what I felt last night. Almiris is _not_ a pleasant lady. You could give her a thousand chances and she would ruin every one. You don't have to believe me; I did not reveal this with any expectations. Just remember what I have told you today so that if – no, when – the truth is set free, you can look back on this moment and see that I was right all along."

"Well, I shall hold you to that." Veassen smiled to show that there were no hard feelings brought about by the differences of their opinions. He was mild in temperament compared to the other two children, and did not much like the idea of facing up to the pair of them alone. "How are you going to prove yourself correct? Just wait for something to happen?"

"I can follow her if you like," Linwë offered.

Thranduil caught the back of his rising friend's tunic and pulled him back to the ground. "Stay. What is the use? They have taken horses, so your speed could not equal theirs unless you rode too. They would hear you. My cousin dislikes you as much as you hate him, so I do not fancy the idea of him finding you where you should not be."

"That is a fair point," Veassen nodded. "Don't go, Linwë."

Rolling his eyes in a somewhat exaggerated display of irritation, the taller boy accompanied it with a long sigh. "Fine, but don't say that I was not the first to volunteer myself. How will you get your proof now?"

"Somehow," Thranduil replied grimly. "Somehow I will."

* * *

"So, where are you taking me?"

Almiris laughed softly as their horses picked the easiest route through the green foliage pressing lightly upon them from all sides. "You will find out soon enough. My only hope is that you are not expected home for a while yet. It will take you some hours to return."

"I should think so," Saeldur snorted. "After all, I am following you into the north of the forest."

"It will be worth it. More than worth it," the ebony haired lady murmured. She paused to flick a leaf out of her horse's dark mane, before turning her troubled gaze upon her companion. "Your young cousin is quite something. He hates me, and clearly sense cannot be talked into him by either you or I. However, the child is not my greatest concern. He is easily dealt with. My worries are instead the King, and your father."

"The King liked you."

"Your father did not."

"No, of course that is not true. He is just... Almiris, I am his only son. Not just his only son but his only child and the one reminder of his dead wife. It is natural for him to be protective," Saeldur said carelessly. "Is that so hard to understand? Just try and see the situation from his point of view, hmm? It cannot be easy for him to think that perhaps he will lose me, albeit to one I care deeply about and who cares for me in return."

"I do not know what he even said of me, but I was not blind to the look upon his face whilst I was away speaking with the Queen," Almiris replied shortly. "How can I see it from any other angle but my own? If you would only tell me what words he spoke when I left, then perhaps I-

"He told me to be careful," Saeldur cut in. "As I said, he was being protective. It was no more than that."

The maiden pulled her horse to a stop, and fixed violet eyes upon the other immortal. "He warned you against me," she said in a low voice "Why did he do that? What does your father know about me that even I do not know? I have done nothing to hurt your family, yet they all seem to hate me."

"They don't. You need not worry so..."

"Evidently I do!" Almiris cried. "Lord Vehiron, your father and the brother of the King, has told you to 'be careful'. The Crown Prince and heir to the throne dislikes me to such an extent that he does not even have the good grace to give an apology for his attitude towards me last night. That makes me wonder what King Oropher and Queen Felith truly think of our relationship."

As his lady's eyes glittered with tears, Saeldur leaned across and touched her hand with tender fingers. "I fear that you are reacting without rational thought, maybe because you have not yet overcome the nerves you suffered at the feast before meeting my family. As I have said already, you need not worry. They will soon come to love you as I do."

"Do you mean that?"

"With all my heart."

Almiris was silent for a moment, but then she smiled and rode on through the forest with a satisfied nod of her dark head. "Even if your family continue to feel so strongly about me, I don't suppose that it matters at all. I can sway their minds easily enough."

"How would you intend to do that?" Saeldur asked casually, as though he thought the words were spoken in jest.

"A few days after we first met, you told me of your time in Lindon and the studies you undertook with scholars and librarians. Some of the books you read touched on divination, incantation and arts that are somewhat...unconventional. At the time I was unsure of how deep your interest ran, but since then I have realised that interest does not enter the equation. Instead it is trust," Almiris said, her voice soft. "I trust you, and I want to show you rather than tell. It would have a far greater impact."

"Show me what?" Saeldur questioned, unable to keep wariness from touching his voice. "I do not understand-

The woman held an elegant finger to her lips. "Hush. Listen and you will hear water. It is a fall that comes down from the mountains. Many used to know of this place, but few now visit. It is...perfect."

"I hear it..."

They rode through a cluster of tall beech trees, and just a matter of seconds later the mounted horses were stood still in the middle of a clearing riddled with tens upon tens of brightly coloured flowers and grazing woodland animals. Deer wandered calmly amongst rabbits chewing upon blades of luscious grass, and a pair of squirrels bounded from one branch to another without a moment of pause. At the head of the stunning scene was the waterfall mentioned with such reverence by Almiris, the silver liquid sheeting down into a large pool at the bottom. Fish swam in the translucent liquid, darting here and there, their scales glinting like mithril in the sunlight. It was as though the two Elves had stepped into a different world entirely, far removed from the one they had been in before.

"It... Valar, how... I..." Saeldur shook his head, lost for words. "This is..."

"It takes your breath," Almiris murmured. She dismounted her horse with fluid grace, and touched the Prince's knee. "Come."

"How is this place so unknown? I thought that I had explored all of Greenwood during my time training as a warrior and after that serving with the army, but I never came across this. Patrols scout the forest and write reports, but in none of their findings has there been any mention of anything so beautiful. They would have... We would know," Saeldur said wonderingly. "How is it possible that so few do? It is rare that comprehension flees me, but now..."

"Do you remember the Girdle of Melian?"

"Of course. She put a spell around Doriath so that it would be a hidden kingdom," the Prince Regent replied. It took a moment for realisation to hit, and when it slammed into him, his eyes widened in disbelief. "No. Surely there cannot be a magical girdle around this place too."

"There is. It pales in comparison to what Melian did, but she was a Maia and gifted with greater powers than the one who cast this charm," Almiris explained. "Far greater powers indeed."

"But, if this clearing is enchanted so that it cannot be found, how is it possible that you and I have just walked in here...?" Saeldur took a step backwards as the second moment of understanding came. "You? You did this? No, that cannot be."

All he received for his incredulity was a cool smile. "We have much to discuss. Come inside."

"Inside?"

At a gesture, Saeldur followed Almiris towards the gushing waterfall. He passed feeding and resting creatures, and could only stare in wonder as a freckled deer meandered at his side. He reached out a tentative hand and brushed it along the velvety pelt. Large eyes of a deep brown turned on him for just a moment, and then they were gone again as their owner continued in her search on the ground for berries to chew upon. "Valar. Why do the animals not leave? Why do they not run? Of course, because they cannot. The spell keeps them from stepping out of the clearing."

Almiris gave that small smile again as the questions were answered by the very one who had voiced them, and indicated to an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the pool. "We must walk across these to get inside. Take care not to slip. Even for an Elf, the surface can be dangerous. You would not wish to fall in the water."

"Why? Is that enchanted too?"

"Just cold," the maiden laughed softly. "Take my hand. Follow me."

Curling his fingers around the outstretched ones before him, Saeldur stepped gingerly onto the slabs of stone, unsure of what to expect. They were indeed slippery, but his natural grace and agility prevented him from taking a fall that would have been nasty to a race possessing less inborn balance. Drops of water splashed up onto his face and clothes as the rushing fall hit the stillness of the pool, and every one elicited a sharp gasp of breath from him. Cold was not the right word. After the warmth of the autumnal sun, the water felt akin to ice.

"Here," Almiris murmured. "Come off the rock."

Saeldur blinked in surprise. "Where are we?"

"Behind the waterfall."

So they were. A curtain of silver liquid separated them from the world outside, and as the Prince Regent gazed through it he saw images of trees and moving creatures that were eye twistingly distorted by the veil, so much so that they had suddenly become unidentifiable objects. He pulled his hand free from Almiris', and turned to gaze at the cave which had seemingly materialised around them. His reaction was no different than it had been when stepping into the clearing for the first time just a matter of minutes ago. He struggled to find the right words, he had to fight even for thoughts kept secret within his mind. Nothing of any sense would come to him. The whole situation made no sense.

"Do not speak," Almiris admonished gently. "Just look."

In the centre of the great cavern burnt a fire, yet it was no ordinary furnace with orange jaws. This had green flames that wrapped themselves around each other like snakes, devouring their fellows with a vicious hunger as obsidian smoke coiled upwards in thin plumes. The smell which emanated was sweet – too sweet – like a lady's scented water; Saeldur had to narrow his eyes and look away as they began to sting. Pulling himself from the strange blaze, he turned to the walls of the cave and walked along them, passing niches and alcoves built into the stone. All were filled with enough items to stock a market stall, many of which he had seen only in books: jars of powder, crystals, candles, dusty tomes with yellowed pages, bottles of foreign concoctions, bones, animal fur, knives and other ritualistic implements that pointed to only one answer – dark sorcery.

"What is this place?" he hissed, turning away from the wall. His eyes immediately widened. "And that! What, by the blackness of Utumno, is that?"

Almiris followed her lover's gaze, her face coolly impassive. "That is a sacrificial altar."

"A sacrificial..." Saeldur took a few stumbling steps backwards, shaking his head in disbelief. "Valar, what are you? You are a witch, a...a sorceress. No, stay away from me! I do not know you, you have become something that I did not imagine was even possible. No, it cannot be real. You have created this place because your mind is-

"Do not," the maiden cut in dangerously. "Do not say it. I brought you here because I love you, I trust you. To have cruel words thrown at me will hurt, and I beg you not to do that. I thought you would understand."

"_You thought wrong_," Saeldur bit out. He strode through the cave, ignoring the hand that tried to grab pleadingly at his own. "Do not dare to touch me. I need to get home, I need time to think about all that I have learnt, to try and... Leave me alone until I... I will come to you."

"If you walk away from this, you risk walking away from us," Almiris whispered.

Although he hesitated at the waterfall, the raven haired Prince made no effort to turn. "The enchantment around the clearing... Can I get past it, or will I be trapped as the animals are?"

The hiss of breath that met his words were answer enough, and he left the cave without another word or look over his shoulder. Left alone in the middle of her domain, Almiris could only watch in furious silence, her eyes blazing with as much strength as the fire as the Elf she claimed to love disappeared. She stared after him for a moment, before whipping her hand into the nearest alcove and throwing a jar of powder into the emerald flames. Outside in the clearing, the sound of a raging furnace screaming its wrath reached Saeldur's ears, and he took the one action he had been warned against: he walked away.

* * *

**TBC**

Thank you to those who have left me feedback for my last chapter. It means a lot. As I mentioned at the top of the page, a new group for LOTR Fanfiction is up and running. If you or anyone you know might be interested, please don't hesitate to join right away or contact me for more information.

Misto


	6. Three Days

**Chapter 6**

Thranduil pushed his writing book across the stone top of the outside table, and waited in silence for a reaction from his cousin and teacher. None came, but he was loath to try and catch the Prince Regent's attention whilst such a foul mood was upon him. At times like this, Saeldur was best left to himself until he could look past the cloud of darkness that hung so heavily over his head. This one had been present for the last week. "I have finished," the young student began tentatively, keeping his eyes lowered.

"What?"

"The Quenya words. I have finished."

"Oh." Saeldur took the book and stared at the page in front of him for a moment before realising what he was looking at. "Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. And what a surprise that the last spelling is wrong too. Did you even attempt to learn them? You knew that I would be testing you."

"Yes, I did know, but I didn't study them. I was...worried. About you," Thranduil admitted. He nodded as questioning pools of emerald turned upon him, silently wondering how far he could take the conversation and how long it would be before tempers started snapping. "Since you returned from your ride with Almiris, you have been miserable. Maybe your father and my parents have not noticed, but I have."

"Clever boy," Saeldur sneered. He rolled his eyes at the look of dismay that appeared briefly on his cousin's face. "Well, what do you want? A prize? Applause?"

"No. I want to know why you are unhappy," Thranduil replied quietly. "Have you and Almiris fought?"

As he began to write out the correct Quenyan spellings next to the misspelt ones, the Prince Regent gave a short bark of laughter. "You would love that, I am sure. You would just love to hear me announce that she and I have quarrelled and are no longer an item."

"Actually, that is not entirely true." Biting on his lower lip as he played absently with the sleeve of his dark green tunic, the child sighed softly. "I dislike her. I am not going to even try and pretend otherwise, but you are my cousin and I still love you, never mind the fact that you are different and things are changing too swiftly for me to understand. I love you more than I hate her, and it matters not that your separation would please me. I would not want to see you hurting."

Saeldur opened his mouth as if to say something, but he clearly thought better of it as he passed his student the writing book. "Learn these. Fifteen minutes, and I want them perfect."

* * *

Queen Felith pulled herself noiselessly up through the branches of a tree that overlooked the glade in which her son and nephew studied, and settled against the large trunk with her legs folded casually beneath her. During her first weeks living in Greenwood a few years ago she had refused to venture even a foot off the ground, but a convincing argument from her family, especially the younger member, had seen her don a feminine tunic and leggings, and begin a practice that had soon made her as capable as any of the Wood-elves.

After the incident in Oropher's office at the start of the week, she had informed him that in no uncertain terms would she trust anyone but herself to secretly oversee the lessons given to their child. Since then, her private wish was that she had not put herself forwards with such vehemence. It was painful to watch the son she always had such faith in be proved wrong on four consecutive days. Four days, and not a single word in anger had been spoken by Saeldur. A part of her almost wanted something nasty to play out in front of her, for no other reason than the sake of her Elfling's honour.

"Your time is coming to an end. Have you learnt the words?"

Felith leaned forwards slightly to regard the younger immortals. She saw Thranduil's golden head shake, but he spoke too softly for even her keen hearing to catch. "Why do you not know them?" she breathed. "You do yourself no favours."

Down in the glade and oblivious to the worried eyes fixed upon him, the Crown Prince laid down his quill and pushed his book away. "No, I have not done as you asked of me," he murmured. "I tried, but I cannot stop thinking about... I know things have happened – your violence, your temper – but I am willing to forgive you and forget it all if you just...if you leave Almiris."

A small smile pulled Saeldur's lips upwards, but it came nowhere near to touching his eyes. "Do not speak folly. Think you that I would take such a step on the word of a _child_? You live in a world of dreams. Now, let's continue with your work."

"No!" Thranduil snapped. He lowered his gaze as his relative's green one flashed warning, and forced himself to moderate his tone. "I want you back. I want the cousin who has strange mood swings and a dark temperament but doesn't hurt me, only... I don't know where he is anymore. It started since you met Almiris, and if you have argued with her and are no longer on speaking terms, this may be my one chance. I am not giving that up, no matter what you say."

Releasing a breath of frustration, Saeldur looked away towards the trees at the far end of the clearing as though afraid his temper would fray if he kept his attention focused on the words being spoken to him, but the expression on his face softened almost immediately and he turned back to the Elfling with a long suffering sigh. "The work I am setting you is not difficult, yet one would never believe it with the results you produce. You may have tried, but it is not enough. Two days you have had these words. You should be able to reel them off without a second's thought. I don't understand why... Is it me? Am I doing something wrong in my teaching?"

"What?" Thranduil blinked in surprise as the older Elf rose and began pacing up and down the clearing. "We were not talking about-

"I thought that I was doing my best. No, I _am _doing my best but you put so many obstacles in my path that I just don't..." Saeldur closed his eyes, and pushed one hand through his dark hair. "I wish that I could give you another chance, but you have had enough lifelines in these lessons and I cannot throw you anymore. I cannot do _this _anymore. Clearly it was never meant to be, so I will tell your father that he must find you another tutor."

The Crown Prince looked up sharply, and shook his head in protest. "If you say to him that I am unable to do the work, he will think that I did it on purpose. I really did try to... Please, he would be so angry with me. Saeldur, let me prove to you that I am better than you think."

Still hidden by the vast number of autumnal trees colouring the tree in shades of yellow and red, Felith continued to watch the scene play out with her smooth brow furrowed in deep contemplation. She was waiting for something to happen, was waiting with bated breath for the moment when her nephew's short temper would snap and he would shout at the child, maybe go so far as to raise his hand and rely on violence to gain control. But it did not come. Nothing that she could ever have predicted arrived instead. Defying all of her expectations, Thranduil caught his cousin's sleeve and held on tightly, stopping him from walking away entirely.

"Don't go," he whispered. "Do not."

Saeldur turned, and gently prised the smaller fingers off. "Do you want our lessons to continue? Do you want me to go on tutoring you? Because I am a Prince of this realm, and I can think of many more honourable things I could be doing than teaching my little cousin how to write words and add numbers. You need to be educated, but if my knowledge is not enough to meet your requirements and this is a waste of my time, say so now and I will help your father to find someone else. Do you want another tutor?"

"I..." Thranduil was silent for a moment, and Felith leaned forwards at a greater angle to read the emotions of confusion, fear and doubt written upon his face. But then he shook his head just once, and her heart sank. "I want you."

"Very well," Saeldur said quietly. "Do you promise me that you will work as hard as you are able to, that you will do your very best to reach your highest potential?"

"I promise."

The Prince Regent nodded his approval, and sat down again at the desk that had been carved from a block of stone to survive all weather conditions. "Come and sit with me, and we will learn the words together. Maybe it will not be so tedious for you then."

Felith's smile was sad as her son eagerly climbed up beside Saeldur. The realisation that had hit her moments before left a painful bruise that only deepened with her next words. "Thranduil, you were lying," she whispered. "Your cousin was given so many chances to be angry, but he did not even raise his voice. How will we trust you in the future if we cannot trust you now, penneth?"

Her heart injured and heavy with the undeniable knowledge that she could do no more to help her only child, the Queen left through the trees without a noise to announce herself, yet she was being observed nonetheless. Down in the clearing, a pair of malevolent eyes were following her every movement from behind a curtain of midnight black hair; the very instant she vanished from sight, they narrowed to mere slits. A hiss of furious breath left Saeldur's lips, and he pushed his young relative away with violent force. "You _will _learn those words," he snarled.

Thranduil stared at the older Elf, stunned. "What?" he breathed. "What do you mean? I thought that you-

"Silence!"

"But I-

"What did I say? I told you to be silent!" Saeldur snapped. "Now, you are going to write every one of these words correctly. For every mistake, I promise that you will feel the back of my hand. Do we understand one another?"

Although he tried to back away, Thranduil found himself caught by the wrist in an iron grip and thrown into his chair. "Why are you doing this? How did you change so suddenly? Before, you were..."

"Oh, I know. I was the best cousin you could have, the perfect teacher and guardian, is that not so? But take a guess as to who was watching us from the trees. It was your mother," the dark haired Elf sneered. "I think I can see what has happened here. You went to your parents with all of your little troubles and they decided to oversee one of our lessons, to ensure that I did nothing cruel. Your luck just ran out, child. I saw Aunt Felith up there. And she saw me acting the wonderful tutor to an idle and difficult student. Do you know what that means?"

"They will think that I was lying," Thranduil whispered. "No..."

"Yes. Vaguely amusing if you consider it." Saeldur allowed himself a brief smile, but it vanished in an instant and he swept his hand towards the boy's face. He held it barely an inch from the pale skin, and said dangerously, "I asked you a question. Do we understand each other?"

_No, no, no. This wasn'__t supposed to happen. I thought that I could talk you around and make you see the truth. _Blinking away the tears of frustration that had gathered, Thranduil nodded once. "Yes," he whispered.

"Wonderful. Let us begin."

As words in a different language were snapped out to him, the young Prince of Greenwood struggled to recite the correct letters even for the spellings he knew, so shocked and panicked was he by his cousin's threats and the revelation that Felith had already been and gone. Sharp slaps landed upon his cheeks for each error, for every time that he stumbled and could not pick himself back up again. By the time Saeldur announced grimly that the lesson was over nearly half an hour later, the tears he had tried so hard to dispel were flowing from his eyes in rivulets.

* * *

Felith's sigh was deep as her husband's green eyes narrowed dangerously. The end of her tale was near, and she wished she could pause time to keep his reaction at bay. "That was it," she concluded quietly, somewhat reluctantly. "Saeldur did nothing. Nothing at all."

"Even though there was chance for him to lose his temper?" Oropher pressed. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"No, I will not! You know everything that I saw as though you were there yourself, so do not ask me to repeat the story. Once was difficult enough, and I cannot bear to..." Drawing a breath to compose and calm herself, the fair Queen sank into a chair before her husband's desk and rested both arms on the smooth surface. "Thranduil refused to do what had been asked of him, and Saeldur's response was to suggest a different tutor. That resulted in panic and... Thranduil does not want anyone else. He wants just his cousin."

"This is ridiculous," Oropher hissed, clenching his fists in frustration. "And then?"

"They sat down together to study," Felith said quietly. "I left. I had no wish to watch any more of it."

A sharp exhale of breath left the King's lips, and he rubbed his temples wearily as though the mortal affliction of a headache was fast approaching. "That means Thranduil was not telling me the truth. He has lied deliberately and with every intention of... Valar, I do not know what is in the boy's mind. I have no idea what his intentions were. Well, that matters not now. All of this stops today. I shall make sure of that."

"What are you going to do?" Felith murmured.

"What can I do? I..." Oropher fell silent as a knock upon wood cut into the conversation, and the door swung inwards. He had sent for his nephew some while back after seeing the shake of his wife's golden head. "Thank you for coming, Saeldur. Did I pull you out of a lesson or have you finished for the day?"

"No, Uncle," the Prince Regent replied, nodding courteously at his aunt. "I have finished. Might I ask why I have been called here?"

"Sit down," Felith said quietly. "There is something that you must be made aware of."

Oropher waited until the younger Elf was seated in front of him before leaning forwards to address him. "Thranduil came to me on the afternoon of the feasting day. He claimed that during your hours of study you have used violence against him when he angers you. I-

"He said what?" Saeldur breathed. "Uncle, why did he...?"

"Allow me to finish. He was distressed, so I agreed to have at least one of the lessons observed without either of your knowledge," the King continued. He nodded as his nephew's bright eyes widened in horror. "I knew that this would come as a great shock to you, but unfortunately it was something that had to be done. Understand that allegations such as Thranduil's must be taken seriously, no matter how little evidence there is to support them."

"When...when was this supposed to take place?" Saeldur asked in a low voice.

"I have seen four of your lessons with him. I was there today," Felith answered meaningfully.

"Today?" The raven headed Prince swept a hand through his hair, and let his eyes flutter shut. "I am sorry, so sorry that you had to witness such a scene. It was not one of our best lessons to observe, was it? Uncle, Thranduil and I had a slight...altercation, I suppose one might call it."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Oropher nodded. "From what I have been told, you handled it well."

"I am not sure," Saeldur sighed. "Thranduil was... To use your word, he was distressed."

There was nothing more Oropher could do than spread his hands carelessly. "I am sure he was, but that is not what we are discussing. I need to know if you are willing to continue tutoring him. I understand if you would rather not. It cannot be easy, teaching your cousin, and I know that the discovery of his lies must have shocked you. The army will be ready to take you back soon enough, I am sure. There is no pressure upon you."

"I do not think that he has been telling untruths," Saeldur said uncertainly. "I have had to punish him on occasion if his actions are deserving of discipline, but I was not aware that I have upset him so. I have him write lines or I give him additional work. Only once or twice have I been forced to take physical measures, and the most I have ever given him is a slap on the wrist. Is that wrong? Would you rather I did not?"

Three sets of sharp Elven ears picked up a noise from outside, and Oropher's eyes narrowed as he realised that their conversation was not a private one. He shook his head briskly. "No, he is your student and I have told you once before that you are well within your rights to discipline him whilst he is in your care. If he cannot accept that... Let us say only that if he comes to me again with such matters, no heed will be paid to them."

"Thank you," Saeldur murmured.

"You are dismissed," the ruler concluded. "Send your cousin in to me."

As her nephew bowed and left, Felith rose from her seat with a weary sigh. "Meleth-nín, don't... Valar, I know not. Do what you must, but I cannot look upon him. I cannot stay to see his face."

"Then go," Oropher said quietly. He watched the lady leave through a different door, leaning back in his chair as he took a moment to try and decide what in all of Arda he was to do with his young son. The decision was slow and painful in coming, but it came nonetheless and he unconsciously nodded his approval, certain it was the appropriate course of action...until Thranduil came in. His sapphire eyes were wet with tears that fell down to stain his cheeks reddened after what could only be a long time spent crying, and he trembled with the effort to control his grief before his father and King. The books that he used in his lessons were clutched tightly against his chest, and it seemed as though he was trying to draw some comfort from the hold. All in all, he looked a pitiful and diminished figure, far removed from the pride with which he usually held himself.

"Dry those tears," Oropher snapped.

Thranduil hastened to obey, but in his anguish he dropped his books onto the floor, and the dull thuds that they conceived made him flinch. He stood still for a moment, clearly unsure if he should carry out the first order or make an attempt to gather up his belongings. He decided on both. Kneeling down, he started to collect the books with shaking hands, at the same time trying to wipe away his tears with the sleeve of his tunic. He progressed far in neither attempt, and the icy green eyes scrutinizing him from on high did nothing to aid his confidence.

"Leave the books alone," the Elven ruler sighed. He waited until his son had straightened, before continuing in a harder voice. "So, not only are you a liar but you are also an eavesdropper and a sneak, if you succeeded in getting past the guards without their noticing you."

"I wanted to know what was happening," Thranduil murmured. "I wanted to hear what you had to say to Saeldur."

"Well, you heard it. What is your judgement?" Oropher asked.

The child's eyes nearly filled again as he thought of his stinging face, the way his cousin had struck him repeatedly with an open palm, the unfairness of it all. "Only you can stop the lessons, and you have chosen to take Saeldur's words over mine. I cannot change that, no matter how I want to."

"No, you cannot. Nor should you be able to. He has done nothing wrong, but despite that, you have tried to make me believe that he is guilty of using unnecessary violence against you. What if I had believed your word?" Oropher demanded, his voice rising in anger. "I would be wrongly laying blame on your cousin. You should feel ashamed that you have even attempted this. Do you? Because I certainly have _never_ been more ashamed of you or more ashamed to call you my son. Believe me when I say that it takes a lot for a parent to speak such words. Answer my question!"

"I don't know..."

"Whether you do or not, your lessons with Saeldur will continue," the King went on icily. "Any more allegations that you make will be disregarded. Is that clear?"

Thranduil nodded, his gaze fixed on a point that only he could see. "I understand. May I go now?"

"No. There is yet the matter of your punishment, which you will not be avoiding today," Oropher replied. "You have lied to me, and it was not just any small falsehood that you told. You tried to use your cousin for your own gain, and that is unforgivable. I do not accept lies from my people, and I most certainly do not accept them from my family. That applies more to you than anyone else. You are the heir to the throne. You are not being raised or trained as a liar. You must now pay the price for your wrongdoing."

"What are you going to do?" Thranduil asked softly. His eyes widened in horror and disbelief as his father removed the belt that hung around his waist, and he took an instinctive step backwards. "No, please... Ada, please don't... Think about this."

"I have, and let me tell you honestly that the paternal part of my mind is screaming at me not to do this. It is telling me that I am wrong. You are my son, and it will never matter how angry I am with you. I love you, and to hurt you will hurt me more than you can know," Oropher replied, genuine regret shining in his eyes. "However, the moral part of my mind is assuring me that you have erred and I have to do this for your own good. You will understand one day."

"I don't think so," Thranduil said shakily. "On the day of the feast, you told me you would give such a punishment if I was older. Now I am only a few days older. Please, Ada."

"You have gone too far this time," the King ruled in a low voice. "This has to happen."

* * *

As he passed a uniquely shaped tree he was sure he recognised from the other day, Saeldur reined in his horse and looked around with a hiss of frustration. He knew this place, on that he would swear anything. But where was the distant sound of rushing water that had so caught his attention before? Over three hours ago he had left the palace, but the progress he had made was non-existent. "Damn it, I followed the path north," he muttered, "yet I am going only in circles. How is this happening?"

"Having trouble, my Lord?"

Saeldur snapped his head around, and stared in the direction from which the voice had come. "Almiris. Show yourself. I came here to speak with you, not play childish games."

"You are always so serious," the maiden sighed, stepping out from the trees like a phantom. "Dark. Brooding. Mysterious. That is what drew me to you. It is what made me fall in love."

"So you have told me." Saeldur played with his horse's mane for a moment, before jumping to the ground to face the other immortal. He took no steps towards her. "I said that I would find you when I had been given time to think. Well, I _have _had time. My mind is made up."

"Why so late?"

"I cannot answer that. I think that maybe I knew all along what I wanted. I was just afraid to embrace it for reasons unknown even to myself. But none of that matters now," the Prince replied. "I am here. I am here because I love you, regardless of the short amount of time we have known each other and what...who you are."

"But you do not yet even know," Almiris countered gently. She paused, and looked up at the slowly setting sun through the trees. "It is late for you to make a journey such as this. May I take a guess and say that your cousin has been causing some form of trouble? He always is, from what you tell me of him. Always testing tempers, always pushing just a little bit too far. But come, you did not take this ride to speak of Elflings. You came to gain knowledge, to understand. The wind is getting up. Walk with me."

"Should I not mount? Surely we are not close to your cave. I cannot even hear the..." Saeldur blinked as the gushing falls became audible. "Water. But I did not move, so why...? I hope that you are not weary. There is much I need to know."

"And you _shall _know it," Almiris replied. "Follow me."

For the second time in a week the Prince Regent did so, and they were through into the beautiful clearing in a matter of short minutes. It was no different from before, save that not many of the wild animals were active. For the most part they were resting, relaxed and content on their soft beds of springy grass. Insects chirped unseen in the trees, their voices coalescing with the waterfall's to make a beautiful song. "The spell was in force," he murmured. "You made it so that I would not find you at all – _you _would find _me_. And to think I doubted that the enchantment existed."

"That does not surprise me. I did not expect you to believe my words as soon as you heard them." Almiris stepped expertly across the rocks by the pool, and vanished into the cave. "I am glad you have no doubt now."

Saeldur nodded, about to reply, when he saw the green fire was still burning. "How often do you put it out?"

"I try to avoid doing so."

"Why?"

"This fire," Almiris explained, "is what keeps this place secret. This fire _is _the spell. If it was to be extinguished, the charm would fall. The animals would run, and my hidden lair would be revealed for all to see. I do not want that, and so I keep it burning through day and night. Were these flames any normal ones, I would have to constantly restock the wood. However, they are fed only once a month. That is all they need. They consume blood, hence the animals and the sacrificial altar."

Saeldur tried to nod calmly, though he was sure his face had paled. "You...kill the animals. To keep the fire burning. I see."

"I don't think that you do," the maiden said softly. "Yes, I have to slaughter them because without their sacrifice, my spell would fail. How? I do not know. Why do the flames need blood? I cannot answer that, for it was not I who wrote this enchantment. My grandmother did. She passed it to my mother, and-

"You inherited it."

"Yes. We all inherit things – our mother's hair, our father's eyes, heirlooms from those who went before. And I...I got this," Almiris sighed, gesturing around the cave. "Perhaps I would not want it if there existed a different choice. Sometimes I dream of carving my own path, I resent having to tread one already made for me, but leaving it is not an option. There is none other to take my place."

"Does that matter? Let it go, if that is what you want," Saeldur pressed. "You decide your life, and only you. Heed your own words. You told my cousin that he cannot dictate who I am and the way I live. Why should anyone – or anything – be allowed to rule your existence?"

Almiris sat down on a rock with a soft sigh, and shook her ebony head gently. "That is so very different. I am bound to this."

"I see no ropes or chains."

"You do not have to see them. They are here all the time, holding me in place just as the animals outside are kept prisoner," the maiden said, frustration creeping into her voice. "You know my mother is dead, but the reason behind... I have not told you. There was no way I could reveal that chapter of my past without telling you of this too. My mother took her own life when I was just a child because living with powers that she knew would never be accepted by the outside world drove her to insanity. I was no older than your cousin, and I received this cave and all the gifts that come with it as the only Elf I had ever known drew her last breath. So you see, I am trapped by my powers until I have a successor of an age to take them. Or until I die."

Saeldur's fair face had softened as waves of sympathy swept over him, but he looked up at the last words with his head tilted to one side. "To strip yourself of these abilities, you have to either end your life or have a child. A child! Valar, that is not why you and I..."

"Of course not," Almiris snapped. "It is all irrelevant now. I do not wish to relinquish what I have any time soon, so you can calm yourself. I am merely telling you what was. There existed a time when I did not want my gift. That is different now, for I know the many great deeds that can be done with them."

"I see. So, you say that it started with your grandmother. How? Did she just begin casting enchantments?" the Prince Regent asked, visibly relaxed and calmer after his lover's sharp reassurance. "I fail to understand how someone could just _become _this."

"She came across a book. This book." Crossing to one of the deep wall niches, Almiris pulled out a dust covered black tome the size of a stone slab, and balanced it in both arms as she flicked through the yellowed leaves. "Its hundreds of pages were once blank, save the very first one. Written upon it was a single verse. Look."

_Buried deep within the mists of time_

_To an ancient art thou __shalt__ cross the line_

_Thy powers conceived by blood like wine_

_To receive thy __gift say__ only these lines._

_Tears shall fall and blood will run_

_Escape is granted for free to none_

_With the rise and fall of the moon and sun_

_Thy fate is sealed, thy fate is done._

"Poetic," Saeldur murmured. "And cheerful too. But what does it all mean? I understand some of the verse. 'To receive this gift say only these lines'. Your grandmother was given her powers after reciting the verse. 'Escape is granted for free to none'. That must refer to the inability to be free from this until death or a child comes along. 'Thy powers conceived by blood like wine'. What of that?"

Almiris wordlessly pulled back the sleeve of her dark dress, and held out her left wrist. A scar was the only marring of the alabaster skin; and as the Prince looked more closely, it reddened before his very eyes, revealing itself to be in the form of a writhing serpent's head. He blinked in surprise, wondering at the fact that in all their time together, he had never seen the distinctive mark. "How could I have missed it?" he thought aloud.

"I was born with this," Almiris explained quietly. "As was my mother. According to my grandmother's records, it appeared on her own wrist and began to bleed heavily in the moment she read the verse. Hence the line."

"In her writings, did she make any mention of whose book it was?" Saeldur pondered. "Where the powers came from?"

"No, she knew little information herself. Of course, she tried to use spells and enchantments to find the one she should lay blame on, but there was nothing. I do not know if it was an Elf who wrote the curse, a mortal, a higher power..." The woman gave a small shrug of her slender shoulders. "I just do not know. It used to be a frustration to me, but I do not let the need for knowledge consume me as I once did. Why take the trouble?"

Saeldur moved his dark head in quiet agreement, and let his gaze travel around the cave of wonders. Everything made sense to him now, although to deny that he was still somewhat overwhelmed by the many revelations would be to lie. But he understood, he understood a secret that he had never before thought he would; not only was it Almiris', but it belonged also to him now. Knowing that the lady he had so swiftly fallen in love with trusted him to such a great extent made his lips curve upwards in a smile.

"What amuses you?"

"Nothing." He looked back towards the maiden, and was silent for a time before asking the question which screamed to be voiced. "With all of this magic floating around, and with all those books and potions... Have you ever...cast a spell on me?"

"On you?" Almiris repeated. "Why would you think that?"

The Prince was immediately on his guard. "Surely you must know why I have spoken such words. I want to be assured that I do not love you falsely, that my feelings for you are conceived by my own heart."

"What do you think?"

Saeldur hesitated, and the moment of pause directed him to his cousin. It was true that his relationship with Thranduil had changed drastically and become more strained than ever before since the appearance of Almiris in his life – the arguments, the tension, the anger, the _violence_. His eyes darkened at the latter. Violence. Yes, he had struck the Elf-child on more than one occasion, but surely it was no more than much needed discipline. _'Or am I dreaming of excuses for my behaviour?' _he wondered. Other thoughts overrode the doubtful ones so swiftly it was as though they had come from somewhere else. _'No. The boy does require a strong hand. I have done nothing wrong. _He _was wrong to try and make his father believe otherwise.'_

"Well? What is your answer?"

Shaking his head slowly, Saeldur turned to the maiden and offered her a small smile. "No, you have cast no spells upon me. Yet."

Almiris gave a quiet laugh to acknowledge the jest, but she spoke no words as she placed her grandmother's black book on a wooden stand and flicked idly through the pages until she reached the centre leaves. Her lover had moved away to gaze into the green fire, unknowingly distancing himself from the one secret that would never be revealed to him. A pair of seductively bright eyes drifted over the dark spell, and the maiden's bright red lips curved cruelly upwards. Written before her were the lives of Greenwood's ruling family; locked within the morbid lines, never to be freed, was the very heart of the Prince Regent.

* * *

It was night, and Thranduil lay in blackness with a single sliver of moonlight shining in on him through the chink in his floor length curtains. He wanted to rise and pull the drapery into a position that would hide all illumination, but the desire for isolation in the dark could not win against the terrible sadness that held sway over his heart and prevented him from doing even the most mundane of tasks. He was hurting both within and without, though he had forbidden himself from shedding any more tears after the initial grief brought about by the most severe punishment he had ever received at the hand of one he loved.

He felt betrayed and hurt, and although he might learn to trust his father again, he knew that he could never trust him to do the right thing, not when the very worst had been done that day. Tightening his hold around the pillow pressed against his chest, the child's eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to sleep, to dream away the pain, humiliation and anger, to make all of it vanish with the deepness of slumber. But he was all too aware that such a wish would not be granted to him. The Valar could not have any sympathy if they deemed it acceptable for blows to rain down upon him from the cousin he looked on as a brother, for the Elf he hero worshipped and respected like no other to discipline him with a leather strap, or for the mother he loved so much to refuse to look at him. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes, and he dashed them away furiously.

"No," he hissed in the darkness. "Don't be weak. Don't be."

"Who is weak?"

Thranduil shot up from where he lay, although he immediately wished he had not as the six red stripes hidden by his leggings protested. His eyes fell upon a raven haired Elf standing in the shadows by the door, and he found himself caught in a limbo between fear and anger. "You," he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I not pay my cousin a night visit?" Saeldur asked silkily, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling as the child flinched. "Why do you lie in the dark? Are you trying to hide your tears? They _are _a weakness, you know, and possession of such a thing makes you weak too. Tell me why you cry. I hope it is because the world has finally been put to rights and you have paid for your cruel accusations against an innocent."

"How can you live with yourself?" Thranduil challenged quietly. "I was beaten by my father today, but not before being told he is ashamed to call me his son. Have you ever had that said to you? It hurt me more than the punishment ever could. I have tried to see my mother, but she must be ashamed also, for she will not let me near. The only small consolation is that all of this is being kept from your father, which means there is one less Elf to look upon me with contempt and disappointment. You don't care, do you? You don't care what you have done."

"Have you finished trying to pull on my heartstrings?" Saeldur sighed. "Truly, it is tiring. I came here to ask something of you, so I cannot allow myself to be distracted by tragic tales of woe. What have you told your friends?"

"My...friends?"

"Aye. The brown haired one and that horrible youth I have no patience for. You see, I too am disappointed. We had a secret which you failed to keep, so all that I have learnt today makes me wonder what vicious rumours you could be circulating among your nasty little friends," the Prince Regent explained carelessly. "Whilst it matters not that they may think poorly of me, I do have honour and a reputation to uphold in the forest. What have you told them?"

"Nothing. You are not the only one with a reputation, and I have no wish for them to know what has been happening to me," Thranduil replied proudly. "They will not know."

"You say that now, but have you foresight? You cannot be sure that you will have the strength or willpower to keep such a terrible thing from your closest companions. Nor can I risk you running your mouth off." Saeldur regarded his cousin in contemplative thought, and his green eyes narrowed coldly. "Stop biting your lip like that. It irritates me. It makes you look like a child."

"Why did you mention my friends?"

It looked for a moment as though the older Elf would berate the younger for pointedly ignoring his jibe, but instead he gave a casual smile and played absently with the sleeve of his tunic, deliberately taking his time over the answer. "Well, this is the way it is going to be. Your _friends _are not going to have anything more to do with you, on your say-so. You are going to get rid of them."

"What? But they... No." Thranduil shook his blond head vehemently, outrage defeating all emotions and feelings of fear. "I refuse to lose them. You can hit me as hard as you wish and tell my father any lie, and no matter what the punishment, I will not push Linwë and Veassen from my life. This is one fight you cannot win."

"Interruptions irritate me too. Take heed of that," Saeldur warned softly. "Let me finish and you will not be so confident. There are two choices here, three days to make just one. Obey me. Do not obey me. Well, I don't suppose obedience really comes into the matter, but unless they are gone and out of your life by this time three days hence, I will turn my attentions away from you and onto them. I deem Linwë might take a while to break, but Veassen is not as strong. Just think... I could have him on his knees and begging for mercy in no time at all. His tears and blood will be on your hands. Do you want that?"

"I... No, but..."

As his cousin trailed off helplessly, Saeldur laughed cruelly. "There are no buts. It is black and white, a simple question. I will never again lift a finger to you if those boys stay around, but they will take your place and become victims of my wrath. They will cry and they will scream, and I swear to the Valar that you will watch every drop of blood. Or you can ignore my wishes. Nothing will change between us, but at least they will be gone and safe from harm."

"They are innocent," Thranduil breathed, the sad truth that he was no less youthful and naive not appearing even momentarily in his mind. "You cannot take that from them. I understand why you want to. You think this threat is the only way to keep your secret safe, but please don't use my friends. I need them."

"Of course you do, of course. Forget I ever said anything. It was wrong of me. You do need them," Saeldur soothed. He smiled gently, but the moment he rose from the bed and turned away, it became a malicious smirk. "You will not have to say goodbye to Linwë and Veassen any time soon, but you will be guilty for ruining their lives. So be it."

"Wait!"

"Swiftly, child. It is late and I wish for my bed."

"Do you really mean it?" Thranduil whispered.

Saeldur paused at the door and looked over his shoulder, the emerald pools of his eyes glinting like broken gems in the moonlight. "Three days."

* * *

**TBC...**

**As I said in my last chapter, there's an exciting new group for LOTR Fanfiction. Please do let me know if you would be interested or if you have any friends/acquaintances who might like to join. Thank you to those who are reading, especially to those who are taking the time to review. Unfortunately I don't have time to reply to you individually right now due to an appointment I'm already late for, but your feedback is very important to me. **

**Misto**


	7. The Third Day

**Chapter 7**

Thranduil's heart was heavy, and every step he took made it sink just a little further. He could hear familiar laughter from somewhere up ahead, a noise he suddenly found himself hating with a passion. It announced two young Elves he knew only too well, the two who had become his best friends ever since starting the journey to Greenwood some few years ago. He had prayed for morning to never come, but it had arrived with greater speed than he could have imagined possible. The first day after Saeldur's threat had passed reasonably fast; the second had gone by like a swift runner; this third had slammed into existence akin to a bolt of lightning. He had spent both daylight and night time hours trying to find a way out of his predicament, but there was no escape, no matter which direction he turned his thoughts. He was trapped by love for his friends and fear for their lives, and only one emotion was allowed to win.

Stopping in between a pair of tall linden trees, the Prince leaned against one with a weary sigh to watch the scene playing out at the grassy bank of a river which wound all the way through the forest. He could not help smiling at the sight of Linwë hanging upside down from a branch and sprinkling shredded leaves atop Veassen as the smaller boy tried unsuccessfully to read a leather bound book, but it was a smile born out of deep sadness. Whether he let his friends go or defied his cousin, this picture would never again exist anywhere but his memory. He knew that was the safest place for the other Elflings to be. Remaining close to him would only result in the same pain he had suffered at Saeldur's hands, if not more, and that was the one crime he could not be guilty of. He could not drag anyone else down with him, especially the two immortals who had stood at his side for what seemed so very long.

The breath that Thranduil had released before was drawn in again as he inhaled and stepped out of the dense foliage into plain sight. He expected a brief smile from Veassen with the end of his chapter not yet in sight, and the mischievous grin from Linwë, still in that strange position in the tree. "I thought you two would be here," he acknowledged quietly. "Surely you cannot plan on swimming. Not after the frost we had last night."

"It was just a bit of cold," Linwë scorned, swinging down from his branch to land effortlessly on the ground. "And besides, we thought that maybe we could go hunting today. Not like the adults do, because what food could we take home with practice knives? But tracking would be fun with all the fallen leaves. What do you think?"

"I think... I don't think either of you will be tracking anything today," Thranduil murmured. "I need to speak with you."

"Can it wait?"

"Linwë. Don't be selfish," Veassen chided, closing his book and looking up at the royal child through concerned brown eyes. "What troubles are on your mind?"

_Valar, you always did see so much more than the rest of us. _The movements of Thranduil's heart were making themselves known once more, and he wished that the increased pounding against his chest was not so painful that it brought him close to turning and running far away from the whole situation. "I have been considering this for a while now, and yesterday I reached my decision. I would have told you then, but I just wanted one last... It has not been easy. In fact, this has been the most difficult choice of my life, without a shadow of doubt. But I have had to make it."

"What are you talking about?" Linwë asked uncertainly.

"Us. All three of us. We have been friends for a long time. Well, that is not true. What is long to an Elf? Whatever the answer, we have been the very greatest of friends for some years now. Believe me when I say that the best times of my life so far have been spent with you." Thranduil did not speak the words to soften the blow he was about to deal. They were genuine, and the truest he could utter. "I wish that things could be different, but...they cannot. It has to end. Our friendship has to end today. Now."

Shocked silence fell on the riverbank, and eyes of hazel and green stared at the Prince with a hundred questions raging through their pools. He dared not meet them. All he could do was turn his gaze away until a soft laugh broke the quiescence and he looked up to see Linwë shaking his head in amusement. "That was funny," the auburn haired boy smiled. "Well done, you almost had us fooled then."

"What? Oh, yes," Veassen agreed nervously. "You almost did."

"I don't blame you for not understanding what I am trying to say, but this is not the jest you think it to be," Thranduil murmured. "I cannot be friends with either of you any longer."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly that."

"Do you really think such a pathetic answer is going to satisfy us?" Linwë asked sharply. "I don't believe you. For some reason you are trying very hard to fool us, but your sense of humour today could be improved upon. This is not funny. Tell us you are making a poor attempt at pulling our legs, and we will forgive you. We might hold your head under the water for a little while, but we would forgive you and move on and continue our day as though nothing happened. Well? Are you going to tell us this is just a joke done in bad taste?"

Thranduil threw his eyes away from the others, frustration rising as his friends tried so hard to convince themselves that they were not truly hearing the end of their time together. He wanted them to accept reality. Rejecting it and prolonging what had to happen would only make the pain worse, and that too was not something he could bear to have as a stain upon his conscience. Standing by the meandering river, his mind drifted to the first argument he had ever taken part in with one of the other boys. Linwë's older sister had sailed to Valinor on the journey from Lindon, and struck by grief he had forbidden himself to get close to anyone else again lest another tragedy befell either him or them. He had pushed Thranduil away both physically and emotionally to protect him, and although that had hurt the confused Elfling, it had succeeded in temporarily ending their friendship.

"I didn't want to do this, but your ignorance is making it very difficult for me to get my point across," the Prince began, surprised at how easily spite slipped into his voice. "I was trying to soften the blow, but it seems as though I must start being honest now. I don't want to be your friend any more, nor do I want anything at all to do with either of you. Why? Because look at me, look at who I am. The heir to the throne of Greenwood should not associate with commoners, with Elves like you."

"What? How can you...?"

"You are the son of a carpenter and an animal healer, Veassen. Do you truly think that does not bother me when I could have friends in far higher places?" Thranduil snapped. His heart broke at the look of devastation and betrayal worn upon the other boys' faces, but he had to press on, for their sakes. "It has taken a few years for me to realise that your commonness is a stain upon me that I have to get rid of before it runs so deep I cannot lose it. I am better than you. I am better than the pair of you together, and you need to start realising that."

"You cannot mean this," Veassen whispered.

"Ah, are you going to cry?" Thranduil sneered. "This is why I don't want you near. You are _pathetic_. Don't touch me!"

A trembling hand came out to brush against his shoulder, and he hit it away with such force that the friend he was hurting so much stumbled backwards and almost fell. He had only a second to stare in horror at the result of his violence; Linwë, who had done nothing more than watch and listen thus far, launched himself forwards with a feral snarl of rage. Both Elflings tumbled to the leafy floor, and there was a moment of confusion as each tried to gain the upper hand. The taller boy won first, slamming his opponent's wrists against the ground and straddling him to render escape impossible.

"How dare you think that the title before your name gives you the right to do this?" Linwë hissed. "You are despicable, and I regret ever laying eyes on you now that I know the truth of who you really are. Go and make friends with other royals and nobles, I care not. You may be better than us, but we will be better off without you."

"You are nothing without me," Thranduil corrected softly.

Linwë rose with a sharp breath of disgust, and went to stand at Veassen's side with his green gaze darkened in anger. "Get out of here. If I have to look upon you for any longer, I fear that the ability to control my actions will be gone. Go, Your Highness. Go!"

Jumping to his feet, the Prince gave a final withering glare to the two who just an hour ago had been his best friends, before spinning around and walking sedately from the riverside. Only when he rounded a corner and was out of sight did he break into a run, sprinting blindly through the forest for a time made immeasurable by grief. Wind whipped against his face and stung his eyes, but the tears which fell were not conceived by any rush of air. He ran and ran, jumping over fallen logs and dodging trees and letting his feet take him anywhere that was far away, following an unknown path until his vision was obstructed by bright lights and his body screamed at him to stop.

He fell to his knees, choking on a sob as he fought for breath. He wanted to cry, to scream, but his hurting lungs refused to accommodate such grief. As his chest heaved, Thranduil curled one fist into a ball and repeatedly struck the ground, using the other to grip a handful of his own hair and channel his rage and frustration by pulling savagely on the golden strands. All he could see was Veassen's brave attempt to blink back tears and Linwë's look of angry betrayal. Those images of the pain he had knowingly inflicted exploded over and over again in his mind like terrible fireworks. He may have saved his friends, but he had damned himself to a lifetime of loneliness.

As the child vented all of his tumultuous emotions, there came movement from the trees that evaded his grief struck mind. Almiris stepped out and did a double take at the sight of a weeping Elfling, the expression on her fair face one of genuine surprise as she vanished back into the foliage without a single rustle of leaves to announce her. All was still and silent for nearly a minute until another dark haired immortal, male this time, appeared alone in her place. He regarded his broken cousin in contemplative thought, and moved forwards to kneel before the boy.

"What are you doing so far from the palace?"

Thranduil's head jerked up, and he made no attempt to hide his anguish. "It is the third day," he whispered.

"I see. You have come from your friends," Saeldur nodded. "Did everything go to plan? No, forgive that question. Why else would you be so dispirited? It was for the best, you know. There really was only one thing to be done, and you were right to understand that. I am proud of you. It cannot have been easy to throw away the love of two Elves who mean so much to you."

"Don't mention them. You have no right to even _think _of them," Thranduil said in a voice made rough by tears. "You shouldn't have... I should not have given in to your threats. I could have found another way to save my friends, but instead I hurt them. All for you."

"Would you prefer the alternative?"

Closing his eyes against another onslaught of liquid grief, the Crown Prince shook his head in defeat. It did not matter how he and the other boys were hurting now. The other option was truly unthinkable. "No. I had to do it," he replied vehemently, as though trying to convince himself more than anything else. "I had to."

"Of course you did," Saeldur sighed. "But, you must not hate yourself."

"Hate...myself? No. I am angry, furious with myself, but it is you I hate," Thranduil challenged. "I hate you for doing this."

"You are upset, so I will allow that to slide by this once. However, do not become accustomed to speaking thusly to me because it will not be tolerated again." A pair of glistening eyes gazed blankly in the silence, and the dark haired Elf released an exhale of breath and got to his feet, taking his cousin's hand and pulling him up too. "Get back to the palace. Stay within the grounds. Your grief could take you a great distance through the forest, and we cannot have you lost. Do something to take your mind away from Linwë and Veassen, you will be fine."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Do as you have been told, return to the palace."

Thranduil pulled the sleeve of his tunic over his eyes, and began to turn away when a question flew into his mind and held him still. "I have done what you wanted," he said quietly. "What does that mean for us? Will anything be different or is nothing going to change? I would rather you hurt me than Linwë or Veassen, but that does not mean I do not wish for a life free from pain. You have my word that I will never go to my father again."

"I had your word once before, so it really counts for nothing any longer," Saeldur replied. "Stay on my good side, you can have that life you want so desperately. Anger me, it will not be yours. Now go."

* * *

As he sat cross legged on the grass a few days after the breaking of his friendship with Linwë and Veassen, Thranduil alternated his gaze between the grey clouds overhead and the other Elven youths his age arriving on the training field for the first of their thrice weekly weaponry lessons. If the sky was anything to go by, it would be raining within the hour and the weather conditions might just be severe enough for the archery and swordplay practice to be cancelled. He loved firing arrows and using blades more than anything, but his once best friends would be present and he did not think he could face them so soon. He did not think he could face them at any time, come to that. Their anger and sadness was fresh in his mind, and he had no doubt that either of them would hold back on making the afternoon difficult for him. It was no more than he deserved after the way he had treated them, he reflected miserably, but still he could not help wanting the easy escape.

"I am surprised you have shown your face."

Thranduil's eyes snapped up, and he rose swiftly to be at the same height as the five boys approaching him with five identical expressions of frostiness upon their faces. "What do you mean by that?" he asked quietly, although he knew full well. "I am a student in these lessons, Nedhudir. Why would I not come?"

"Everyone knows about you and what you did." The Elfling who had spoken first of all tilted his head to regard the other, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Linwë told us your thoughts on associating with commoners. We all thought you were better than that, despite being a Prince. He and Veassen were your closest friends, and you threw them away as you would pieces of debris. It was not very decent of you."

"Perhaps not, to those who have heard only one side of the story," Thranduil murmured. "I ask that you keep from judging me without knowing my reasons."

"Will you tell us?" Nedhudir pressed.

Smiling humourlessly, the blond haired boy shook his head briefly. "No. It is something that must stay with me and only me."

"Then, how can we not judge you?" another Elfling asked scornfully. "You are not doing very well at defending yourself."

"Maybe that is because I do not wish to be understood by any of you here. I know I have lost Linwë and Veassen forever and more than likely made enemies of all who like them, but none of it matters to me," Thranduil snapped. "I cannot care, not now they are safe."

"Safe from what?" Nedhudir questioned curiously.

"Never mind him," the second youth sneered. "He is only trying to make himself sound like some sort of hero to get out of this situation. It won't work, Your Highness. Everyone knows now that you are not the Elf we thought, so you had best start preparing yourself for a hard time of it because none of us are going to let you get away with what you have done."

As he stalked away with three of the other boys, the one remaining looked at the Prince with something akin to regret in his eyes. "You were right in saying that you have made some enemies. You, Linwë and Veassen have always been well liked, but it does not take much for the popular to fall. Despite that, you should not listen to Rilien's threats. Nobody will lay a finger upon you. Your title is protecting you from us, but there are whispers that Linwë is going to try and catch you alone. Since you will not tell me your side of the story, I don't know what you deserve to get out of this. Just be careful and stay alert."

"Thank you," Thranduil said, genuine surprise in his voice. "Why have you given me warning?"

There was movement and a sudden crescendo of noise a short distance away, and both Elflings turned to see the arrival of Linwë and Veassen on the field. They were pointedly ignored, and Nedhudir sighed softly. "My friends may not have noticed it, but I heard true regret when you spoke. We should be joining the others. Hérion will be here soon. Remember what I said about taking care."

Nodding in silence and waiting until Nedhudir had left, Thranduil took deliberate time in walking across the training ground. He could feel too many pairs of critical eyes upon him, but he deliberately met none of them and held his head high with the pride that was beginning to so define his character. He was certain that more than one Elven youth wanted to come and give him a tongue lashing of their own for the unforgivable crime he had committed. He was ready and prepared to accept any verbal abuse, although the appearance of a dark haired Silvan Elf made sure that silence reigned. He silently thanked the Valar as he moved a short distance away from the other novices without blatantly distancing himself from the lesson, and listened without really hearing to the weapons master begin the afternoon of practice.

"We shall be doing a practical session today, unless the weather turns drastically in which case I will take you to the army headquarters where you will speak with older warriors and gain enough information to write reports for me on life as a soldier in Greenwood," Hérion announced briskly. "For the moment, recall the striking manoeuvre we began to study last week. I shall begin with a demonstration, and then a few volunteers will... Prince Thranduil!"

The Elfling could not help but jump at the sudden sharp voice which shattered his reverie. "Um... Yes, sir?"

"What are we doing today?"

"We... Writing reports on..." Studying the daggers held in his instructor's strong hands, Thranduil shook his head slightly. He had not been aware that his lapse in concentration was so blindingly clear. "I mean, a practical session. Practicing...manoeuvres."

"Which?"

"I...don't know, sir."

Hérion's eyes darkened in irritation, and he cast them skywards with a long breath to calm himself. "Very well, let us see if you have an answer for me after a reminder from last week. Watch me carefully. That goes for all of you, not just the less interested students."

Flushing slightly, Thranduil bit his lip and focused his attention on the strict weapons master as a dance of blades began. It was not that he cared little for the lesson; his gaze kept drifting towards the two he had pushed from his life a few days ago. They were standing with another group of boys some distance away, and whilst Veassen paid him no heed, Linwë's green eyes flashed maliciously every so often and a cold smirk pulled his lips upwards on more than one occasion. The Prince was perceptive enough to see that there was some trouble or other afoot, and that it might be in his best interests to try and slip away from the training field earlier than the scheduled finishing time. Although, considering he had already stepped on Hérion's bad side, he was not sure how likely it was that he would be permitted to leave-

"Thranduil!"

_Oh Valar, did I lose concentration again? _

"I am over here," Hérion snapped. "Your gaze should be fixed on me and _only _me. What would have happened if this was a battle? If you and I were not on the same side?"

"You would have killed me," Thranduil muttered.

"Exactly. I will bring your attention back once more if I have to, but after that you will be removed from the lesson and sent to wait for me outside my office. Is that understood?" The brown irises of the weapons master flared as his student glanced sideways at another group of boys in the class. "What have they to do with my question? Look at me! If this is how you wish to play the game, I am happy for you to leave now. You can go and stand at my office door until I have a moment to come and deal with this, but not before showing me and your fellow novices just how little you have been listening. Get a practice sword while I choose you an opponent... Linwë. Out here, now."

Thranduil felt his heart sink as a pair of bright green eyes appeared at his side next to the collection of wooden blades. "Hérion, I..."

"What is it?"

"I can't... I can't do this."

"Give me an explanation swiftly."

"Linwë is stronger and a head taller than I. It would be an unfair match," Thranduil replied, fully aware of the many gazes fixed upon him from the other students. He may have been seeking an easy escape from the situation, but knowing that his suggested opponent was also an enemy as of a few days ago, he felt no shame in silently admitting that he was nervous. "Should I not be paired with someone who is closer to me in height, at least?"

Hérion regarded the Prince through cool eyes, and shook his head incredulously. "No fighter is the same. You will face many adversaries in battle, and if your words are anything to go by I assume you will keep from attacking on the basis that they have some size on you or might be smaller in stature. You will never be a warrior if you do not know the advantages of your body. If you are slighter than Linwë, the chances are that you will be swifter too. Use it against him. Any other questions? No? Good. Get out here, the both of you."

Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil nodded slowly and walked forwards to stand in the middle of the circle with his fingers wrapped so tightly around the wooden practice sword that his hand shook. He immediately lessened the hold he had, and gave a brief incline of his head as Linwë stood before him. The other boy just stared coldly until Hérion cleared his throat meaningfully, a warning sound which elicited the quickest of nods. An emerald gaze met and held a sapphire one, and there was only silence and stillness on the training field as the two novices studied each other. A bird trilled somewhere overhead, momentarily distracting the Crown Prince. He paid dearly for his lapse, fighting to hold onto his blade as Linwë struck hard and fast against him. His shoulder ached with the sudden assault, but he gritted his teeth and looked for his chance to gain control.

It seemed to be an age in coming, and he spent over a minute desperately parrying before he saw an opening that he felt confident in taking. Diving towards the ground, he turned his sword at the last moment to hit the one above him, remembering what Hérion had said about using his slighter build as an advantage. A hiss from Linwë was enough to show his frustration at losing the upper hand, and Thranduil mentally prepared himself for a long and painful fight. His opponent had been ruthless even when they were friends. Now they were enemies... There was a second to relax as the other young Elf spun out of the attack, but he regretted taking it ten times more than he regretted the distraction from the bird earlier on; as Linwë whirled around again, he shot out one hand and aimed the flat of his sword against the Prince's temple.

"Daro!" Hérion commanded, stepping in between his students and turning the blond boy's face to the side. "Are you injured?"

"No, sir," Thranduil gasped. He blinked hard to rid himself of the bright lights clouding his vision, but the explosions would not cease. "I am well."

"Good. Take a moment."

The Crown Prince nodded, and immediately wished he had not made the motion. Passing a hand over his forehead and letting it rest upon the stinging area just above his left eye, he watched the weapons master take Linwë aside and upbraid him for the act of violence. Thranduil let the words go over his head, but he could not miss the look of anger upon Hérion's face as he delivered the severe scolding, nor the stoic coldness worn openly by the recalcitrant student. That was so very like Linwë, he reflected sadly. _You always did accept the punishment as an adult would, without batting an eyelid. But we always knew you were crying inside. Are you now? _He did not think it would be so on this occasion.

"We will continue this exercise until a winner is declared without the aid of violence," the Silvan instructor announced, stepping back to the main body of his class with a sullen Elfling in tow. "Before that, there is something Linwë would like to say. Linwë?"

"I..."

"_Linwë_."

"Sorry."

"I don't think it possible that everyone could have heard that," Hérion warned. "Again."

"I am sorry," Linwë repeated loudly.

"Forgiven," Thranduil murmured.

As the weapons master turned his back and the two novices assumed the correct stances required for their exercise, the copper haired one narrowed his eyes until they were just slits. "How dare you?" he hissed viciously. "I am forgiven? You deserved that strike, you know you did. There is nothing to forgive me for. Of us both, I am not guilty of anything whereas your conscience must be weighed down with guilt and blame over what you did to Veassen and I. My apology meant nothing. I would hit you again, twice as hard."

"I forgave you for Hérion," Thranduil replied in a whisper. "I know that you are not owed anything by me, especially forgiveness. But it was expected. I could not take your words without giving you-

"We do not have all day, Elflings."

Linwë's eyes flickered slightly at the sarcasm in their instructor's voice, but he leaned forwards nonetheless to continue the conversation without being overheard. "At any other time I would not be foolish enough to push this teacher over the line, but today is different. Today I do not care a damn. If you think that what I gave you before is something to cry over, just you wait and see. Then _you _will be the sorry one." Turning his head slightly, he waited until Hérion's eyes rose in frustration before starting an attack that had to be planned. His hand tightened around the wooden practice sword, and he whipped it across the Prince's face with no mercy.

Blood pooled instantly in Thranduil's mouth, and some of the metallic liquid slid down his throat as Linwë's blow sent him to the ground. Choking on the sickly taste and smell, the injured Prince lay dazed for a moment before summoning up the energy to banish the immense pain and roll away from the angry figure coming towards him. A hand grabbed the back of his hair and tried to pull him up, but he fought furiously, successfully bringing his enemy down to his level with a simple trip. Other Elven boys were gasping at the sudden turn of events, warriors distracted from their own training had abandoned their weapons and were running over to the novice group to help Hérion, but neither young fighter seemed to realise that they were not alone until both were brought to their feet and dragged away to the far side of the field.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hérion thundered, gripping Linwë's shoulders and shaking him hard.

Trying to shrug away from the one who had such a firm grasp on his arms, Thranduil breathed heavily as he waited for a response. None came, and he put a little more effort into his escape attempt. "Sir, it was me... I am at fault here."

"I knew these two a long time before arriving in Greenwood," the Prince's captor growled. "I travelled with them on the way from Lindon, and they had more manners and decorum then. If a certain Elfling has become too high and mighty to remember where he came from, along with civility and good behaviour, perhaps a swift hiding might remind him. No soldier would escape punishment for in-fighting. I'll be damned if this boy gets away free."

"Release him," Hérion snapped. "He is not guilty. Linwë struck."

Thranduil exhaled sharply as the hands left his shoulders, glancing behind him to see who owned the voice he recognised from a few years ago. The red haired warrior alternating a glare between he and the other novice was Rochendil, an Elf to be feared for his chilling gaze and brusque manner almost as much as was the King himself. "No, sir. It was not I who struck, but the blow was a deserved one. I am at fault for something."

"Enough to have your lip split?"

"I argued with Linwë and Veassen the other day, and the blame for that is entirely mine," Thranduil replied quietly.

"Are you defending what has happened?" Hérion questioned, his voice sharp.

"I don't need or want you to defend me," Linwë broke in mutinously. "You deserved that bloody lip just as you did the-

Gripping the child's shoulder, the weapons master turned him around and nodded to the stone building a short distance away that was used as the army headquarters and offices for captains and other warriors of high rank. "_You _will be the one waiting for me outside my office. Face the wall until I arrive, then you can help me write an appropriately worded letter to your guardian. Go." Watching through narrowed eyes as Linwë spun on his heel and ran off the training field, Hérion sighed softly. "Rochendil, will you take over my lesson? With all luck, I will be present for the majority of it. Just keep the other boys in hand."

Thranduil waited until the flame haired warrior had left before raising his eyes to meet the dark brown ones above him. They had been angry and cold not so long ago, but now they shone with something that he thought might have been concern. "I am sorry to have caused trouble, sir. This was why I did not wish to be paired with Linwë."

"There is no need for you to apologise, but you were wrong to hide the tension between you and he. If there are hidden disputes, I need to know in order to avoid incidents such as these," Hérion chided not unkindly. "You are one of my best students, if not the very best. I expect better from you, and that is why I spoke with such sharpness in my voice. Telling me of the argument would have prevented me from taking your distraction as idleness. A warrior must learn to share his thoughts and feelings. That is something I will have to work on with you."

"I am not a warrior yet," Thranduil said quietly.

"No. There is still time to train you." Hérion sighed again, and lifted the child's chin to examine the split lip. "That will leave you with a bruise. Let me walk you back to the palace and explain everything to your mother and father. I know the King has a tendency to overreact if he thinks for a moment that you have erred."

"That is so, but I would very much like to be alone. Thank you for thinking of me." The Crown Prince smiled, although he winced a moment later and automatically touched his mouth. "If I can clean this up and make it look slightly better, perhaps my parents will not even notice. Perhaps... Thank you again, sir. And I truly am sorry that we made trouble in your lesson."

"Let us hope that Linwë is as repentant," Hérion replied grimly.

Giving the older Elf a respectful nod of the head, Thranduil left the training field and started the five minute walk back home. His injury stung terribly, although the bleeding had ceased at some point during the conversation with his weapons master. The only positive outcome was that the pain would prevent him from biting on his lip, something which would certainly please his cousin who seemed to find the childish expression particularly hateful. _Thank you, Linwë, for helping me with that. _The boy's eyes narrowed coldly – not in anger at the one who had struck him, but renewed fury with himself. None of this had really _had _to happen. There had been no need for him to stand apart from his friends, fear their revenge and accept it in the form of public retribution. If not for his weakness suddenly born out of fear, he would be on the field with his friends, perhaps sparring with Linwë as Veassen watched eagerly.

As he crossed the paved courtyard which spread out before the palace, Thranduil raised the back of one hand to his mouth in an attempt to conceal his split lip. He tried not to avert his eyes too much. A few years of hiding misdeeds from his father, not to mention the convincing performances which kept Saeldur's secret just that, had done well at teaching him the best ways to appear both innocent and honest. Serving staff gave him warm smiles, which he returned whilst pretending to brush stray strands of hair away, although the deception was beginning to unnerve him. Picking up his pace slightly, he waited until he had entered the royal wing before breaking into a swift run and pulling his hand down. No sooner had he done that and rounded a corner than a slender figure appeared in the centre of the hallway, forcing him to jump backwards to avoid being hit.

"Nana..."

"What have you been told about running inside?" Queen Felith berated gently. "You should not... Thranduil! What happened to you?"

Closing his eyes briefly, the Prince resigned himself to the fate of giving an explanation without the chance to clean his face. "I... There was a... Is Ada very busy? Only, I think this is something that he too should hear. Or at least, I think he would want to know, because... Is he free?"

"Your father has been called away to the northern part of the forest. There are some problems with a settlement... Valar, you have been bleeding," Felith whispered. "Let me see. How did you come to gain this wound? Have you been fooling around in the trees without care again? Did someone do this to you? Tell me, child."

Thranduil nodded in silent concurrence as his mother took him by the hand and led him out of the corridor and into a private lounge area. It was somewhat smaller in size than the main one, and he felt a degree of security and comfort, sitting cross legged in an overstuffed chair with a loving maternal gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him. "You may be disappointed in me, Nana. My lessons have been suffering lately, as you know. I came to the realisation that I was doing poorly because of my friends. They are a bad influence upon me." His heart was heavy at the lie, but there was no other way to tell the story without implicating his cousin. "Because of that, I decided to end my friendship with them."

"Penneth," Felith breathed. "Why would you do that?"

"I am the heir to the throne of Greenwood and I cannot be allowed to have distractions," Thranduil replied stoically. "I told them two days ago that I don't want to be their friend any more. Veassen was upset, but Linwë became very angry."

"Can you blame him?"

"No."

"What happened then?" Felith sighed.

Drawing a breath, Thranduil gave a swift explanation without any lies. He tried to ignore the expression worn by his mother which seemed to suggest that she had no sympathy for him. Not because he thought it unfair, but rather because he was in agreement with her. "And that was it. Hérion took us out of the lesson and sent Linwë to the army headquarters, before dismissing me and telling me to return here. I wanted to clean myself up before coming to find you and Ada, although that doesn't matter now because you found me first and Ada isn't here. Are you...angry?"

"I _am_ disappointed, as you thought I would be. Linwë and Veassen are good children," Felith replied quietly. "Perhaps you have made a mistake, although I hope you know that it may well be irreparable. If you regret your decision, you must not expect to receive tender reassurances and consolation. I love you very much. That does not mean I condone what you have done. Cutting your closest friends from your life is on nobody's head but your own, and that is something you must not forget."

Thranduil looked away, and nodded briefly. "I know, Nana. I will not forget it. Do you mind if I leave now? Only, I want to change my tunic. There are some dots of blood on this."

"Sit with me a while longer." Moving from her own chair to sit at the edge of her son's, the fair Elf-lady stroked his cheek with the gentleness that only a mother can possess. She felt him lean into the touch, and sighed softly as she wrapped both arms around his slender frame to pull him close. "I do love you, you know that. And although I may not agree with your decision, I can still hold you against my heart. Nothing will take my love for you, my little star. Nothing."

Giving a small smile as he knew was expected of him, Thranduil closed his eyes tightly and inhaled the rosewater scent that lingered upon the Queen's gown. _'How can you be so sure, Nana?' _he thought sadly. _'I must have done something awful to anger __someone,__ otherwise I would not be here now. My cousin would still love me and my friends would not be gone._' Ever since meeting Almiris he had been so convinced that she was the driving force behind Saeldur's cruelty, but that was the first time he had contemplated the notion that perhaps he was being punished for something. The thought made tears prick behind the long lashes hiding his eyes, and he increased his hold around Felith's neck. _'How can you be sure?'_

* * *

**A/N: I'd just like to apologise to the people who are following this story. My life has been pretty busy over the last couple of weeks, and I certainly didn't want to leave it this long before posting a new chapter. I hope I haven't lost any readers by not being able to update, and I hope that those still with me are continuing to enjoy this. Thank you so very much for the reviews I got for my last chapter; the support is appreciated. **

**I would also just like to mention AGAIN (I'll shut up about it soon) that there is a new Yahoo group for LOTR ****fanfiction****. We are in desperate need of elf fans, people! ****The hobbits are winning out considerably, whilst men and dwarves barely get a look in. It's a great group with exciting challenges, story exchanges and mainstream ****fanfiction****. If you or anyone you know might be interested in joining so that you can post your own stories or just read, please do not hesitate to contact me in whichever way you prefer and I'll send you an invitation. **

**Emma**


	8. Point of No Return

**Chapter 8**

A pair of azure eyes gazed unblinkingly into another identical set. One hand was slowly lifted to brush against an almost faded bruise upon a young Elf's lip, and a twin image directly in front of him copied the action. Slender shoulders lifted slightly as a long sigh was released; that too was replicated in perfect unison. Thranduil gazed a moment longer at himself in the mirror before taking a hairbrush from his desk and pulling it slowly through the waves of gold hanging freely down his back. He had repeated this particular motion at least five times since waking that morning, but everything had to be perfect today. His father was due back from the business that had called him away to the northern part of the forest. Granted, Oropher's return was not scheduled until the early hours of the evening, but one could never be prepared enough. _Especially when the cut on their lip is still healing and they have to act convincingly enough to assure a King that all is well_.

"Shut up," Thranduil said aloud. "Don't feel sorry for yourself. This is your fault, so you don't have the right to feel self-pity."

Exhaling again, he laid the brush back on the smooth desk surface and picked up a thin band of leather. Rather than put it to the use for which it had been designed, the Prince twisted it without truly paying any heed to his actions, pulling the sturdy piece of material to snapping point with his eyes narrowed and focused on a point in the mirror. His father's imminent arrival was not the only reason he had wanted to stay in bed and ignore the watery sun of autumn peering through his curtains. Lessons with Saeldur would be held that afternoon. His cousin had been generous enough to reward him with a few days away from studying for the obedience with which he had removed Linwë and Veassen from his life. His eyes became mere slits. He had been forced to thank the older Elf for that act of kindness, something which he would not stop resenting for some time.

As dark reverie caught and held him, the door flew open and hit the wall with such force that it surely must have been kicked from the other side. Thranduil flinched and stole a swift glance in the mirror, already knowing deep down who his gaze would fall upon, before casting his eyes downwards in a submissive way that might go a short distance to cooling his relative's temper. Letting the leather hair tie fall back on the desk, he waited in silence for the inevitable tirade to begin. It was no good asking today's reason for Saeldur's fury. He would know all too-

_CRACK._

Thranduil immediately jerked forwards as red hot pain seared his lower back. Items on the desk shook from the impact of his hands slamming against the wooden edge, and a hazy part of his mind noted a half empty cup of water which had thankfully not spilled. Biting back tears of shock and hurt, he tried to turn. Strong hands clamped down on his shoulders and dragged him to the other side of the room. The fact that he was pinned without escape did not seem to register. All he could see was the thin switch gripped by his cousin. A thrill of terror shot through him at the sight, and he knew that his eyes had widened in a fright that could not be banished.

"Saeldur, I-

"You could not resist defying me. Could you?" the Prince Regent hissed. "Despite my wishes and the order that you chose to obey without any coercion or pushing from myself, you had to get yourself involved."

"With what?" Thranduil breathed.

"Not 'what'. Who! You got yourself involved with one of _them_," Saeldur spat viciously, as though the words were poison. "The agreement was that they would be out of your life for good. That means no contact of any form, yet you violated our accord. I may have been away with Almiris for the last two days, but do not think that I failed to hear of the incident on the training field. What was it? A poor attempt to gain their attention and weasel your way back? Well?"

"No! I thought that an agreement was only made after the shaking of hands, and we have never done that. How can what we have be an agreement? Besides, if I wanted to try and make amends with anyone, it would not be by way of a fight," Thranduil defended, desperation creeping into his voice. No sooner had he finished speaking than he wished he had remained silent. The mad glint in his cousin's green eyes was enough to tell him that he had made a mistake. "Saeldur, I... I am sorry. I should not have used that tone with you. Please..."

Tightening his hold around the switch held loosely in his fingers, the dark haired Elf swung his arm back and let his cruel implement whistle through the air. Its streamlined motion was too swift for even an immortal to dodge. With a sickening snap, it connected with Thranduil's chest. He instinctively doubled over to protect himself, but that too was an error. Pain flashed across his shoulders with the third attack of the strip of wood, and he dropped to his knees as he fought wildly for breath and against the tears that threatened to spill. If he had thought for a moment that open handed slaps were events to cry over, his eyes had just been shown an awful new world.

"Perhaps that will make you think twice about raising your voice to an elder," Saeldur said coldly. He stared at the trembling Elf-child through eyes free of remorse for a moment, before crouching so that he and his relative were nearly on a level. "I sincerely hope that you are sorry. Are you?" A frightened nod was his answer, and he gave a small smile. "Good boy. Now, I spoke with your weapons master on the way here and convinced him to put you in another class which trains on different days, so you will have no excuse to associate with Linwë and Veassen. You have been moved to a higher age group where the skills are more advanced, but you are talented enough to learn with the older boys. You should thank me. After all, I could have asked Hérion to put you with younger children who are only just beginning."

There was only silence. Thranduil wanted so desperately to let it reign, but he could see through a veil of tears that his cousin's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Rising with deliberate slowness from his place on the floor, Saeldur used the pointed tip of his switch to lift the child's chin so that their eyes met."I think it only fair to give you warning that I will be keeping this around. It seems a useful tool for keeping wilful and disobedient Elflings in line. Do you agree?"

"Yes," the Crown Prince whispered helplessly. There was nothing else he could say. "I agree."

"Already you are improving. When I leave momentarily, you are going to stay here alone for a few minutes and sort yourself out. Cry if you must and feel sorry for yourself, but when you attend the midday meal with the Queen, your clothes will be neat, your hair tidy and a smile will be upon your face," Saeldur instructed. "I shall see you again in an hour for your afternoon lessons. Be on time."

Nodding his head in numb acquiescence to the request which he knew was anything but that, Thranduil folded his legs beneath him and rocked slowly back and forth where he sat on the carpeted floor. He was in shock, he was in pain and he was terrified. Such intense fear had never before existed in his short life, and he had no idea how to rise above it. His tormentor had given permission for him to cry, but he did not take it. Tears fell, understandably, but in spite of the three fiery lines adorning his tender skin, he did not give into the grief and weep as perhaps another child would. He refused to do that.

The young Elf drew in a deep breath, pushing himself up with hands that had not stopped trembling. He was almost surprised that he did not fall right back down again. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. Over the last few months he had attempted to convince himself that none of this was happening, that the pain and violence was nothing but a terrible nightmare he would soon wake from and run to his best friends with, but the pain still wrapping itself around his body was reassurance that there was no slumber to blame. Blinking his eyes open again, Thranduil walked with commendable steadiness to the dressing table he had sat at previously, and gazed at his reflection in silence. His face was white, with strands of hair that been immaculate just moments ago suddenly in a state of disarray and sticking to his tear stained cheeks.

He was still and silent for a length of time that had no measurement. There was a part of him that wanted to lift up his tunic and examine the marks that were sure to be vividly red against the pale hue of his skin, but another part, a greater part, warned him against that. He needed to be calm and prepared to face the world with a smile on his face, as he had been instructed by the one who seemed to rule his life now. Catching even a glimpse of his wounds would invoke too many emotions within him to control, and he could not face another session of pain at his cousin's hands as punishment for losing control. So it was that the young Prince of Greenwood took up his brush and pulled it through his golden locks until they were silky smooth. His leather band came next, and he tied his hair back off his face with deliberate care. The blackness of the material was a violent contrast against the fairness of his colouring. He regarded it in silence for a moment before pulling his hand across his cheeks and eyes to banish all trace of tears. With the silver drops a part of history, he looked once more at himself in the mirror – and he smiled.

Fifteen minutes passed, and not a single Elf would guess that an act of abusive violence had been committed in the palace. As Thranduil walked towards the private dining room to meet his mother, he did so with his head held high and a friendly expression with warm words ready for anyone and everyone he might pass. It happened that the halls were empty, for which he was silently thankful. He could be fully prepared and ready, but that did not mean he would enjoy a moment of the pretence. The door to his destination was closed, and he paused to unnecessarily smooth down his hair and press an imaginary crease from his tunic. His fingers lingered over the hidden switch mark on his chest for just a moment before he mentally shook himself and walked forwards. The wooden portal swung open and he immediately froze, his wide eyes fixed on the back of a familiar dark head. _Oh Valar. Please, please, please. I thought I was-_

"You are not late, penneth. I am early."

Thranduil swallowed hard, and pushed the door shut behind him as he stepped further into the room. "Ada," he began uncertainly. "I did not think you were due home until this evening."

"No. The business I had to the north came to a conclusion swifter than we imagined it would, so there was little to be gained by waiting around there any longer." Oropher paused, and tilted his head to regard the child standing almost warily at his side. "I think that perhaps I owe you an apology. My departure was poorly timed. I could have waited a few hours for you to return from your weaponry lessons to say goodbye rather than leaving without telling you."

_You would not have left at all, had you waited on _that _day_. "I didn't truly mind, Ada. I was not sure where I stood with you then because we had not spoken very much since...since you punished me for saying what I did about Saeldur, so I just thought you were still angry with me," Thranduil replied quietly. "And besides, the kingdom is more important than me."

Oropher wished he had enough foresight to block out those words, but they resounded painfully in his mind. "Listen to me carefully. If an Elfling breaks rules, he is punished. If he accepts that punishment and takes it because he knows what he has done wrong, he is forgiven. I forgave you the moment your discipline finished, and I am sorry that I failed to assure you of that before. The mistakes you make are forgotten after you pay the price. You have a new start. Understand?"

"I think so." Giving his father a small smile, the child took a seat to the right side of him and leaned forwards slightly to talk as they waited for Felith to join them. "How did your business finish so early? Why did you have to go, anyway? And did you have any time to look for the one who shot Saeldur? The last I heard, you thought the attacker was further north."

"There was no time for that. I do not think there will be much more time at all," Oropher replied slowly, raising a hand to stall the imminent questions and protests. "We have been conducting a search ever since it happened, close to three months ago. You know as well as I that we are getting nowhere in finding the guilty one. If your cousin's wound had been any more fatal, the search would continue for as long as it took. But Saeldur is healing. There have been no further assaults. We may need to start accepting that our efforts are in vain and a waste of valuable time."

Thranduil's eyes turned towards the table. He might have considered mentioning Almiris had he not been struck so recently that the wounds still pained him. They were a strong reminder of what would happen if he displeased his older relative, and voicing suspicions about that woman would be a sure way of doing so. "I see," he murmured. Unwilling to let his father believe that he was becoming sullen, the Prince looked up again to continue their conversation. "Have you spoken to Nana since returning? I argued with Linwë and Veassen."

"She told me."

"Are you angry?"

"Why would I be?" Oropher questioned, regarding his son carefully. "She explained your reasons. You want to concentrate on your lessons, something which I wholly support. I did like your friends, but I cannot help thinking their absence might be for the best if they have been influencing you the wrong way. No, I am not angry with you. It takes a lot for someone to realise the truth and make a right decision that might hurt themselves and others. I am proud of you for taking that step.

"Thank you," Thranduil said quietly. "So, what was your business to the north?"

As the King began to explain the troubles a large settlement had been having with wolves coming in during the night and taking their animals, Queen Felith arrived and took a seat after kissing both her husband and son atop their heads in greeting. It was the first pleasant meal they had sat down to as a family for a while, and Thranduil wished it could last for longer than half an hour. Being with just his mother and father, he could forget for a few minutes that an afternoon with Saeldur lay ahead of him. All he could hope was that his corrupted cousin would remember the events of just a short while ago and be easy on him in their lesson. The young Elf grimaced inside and surreptitiously raised a hand to touch his still stinging chest. He doubted it.

Sooner than he would have liked, Felith was gently advising him to go and get his books ready and head towards the room on the other side of the palace in which he studied. It was situated fairly close to the library for easy access to reading material, and he stopped briefly in the large chambers which played host to many scholars to return an encyclopaedia he had borrowed the previous week, before moving on to his intended destination. Drawing a breath when he reached it, he closed his eyes as he pushed down on the door handle and stepped inside. He was early. He had the correct books and finished work. He had done well in hiding the most recent confrontation from the outside world. All of that should be enough to protect him from further violence, but being in the lessons room, even alone, sent chills racing down his spine. His relative was always more likely to hurt him there, where no-one would walk in on them, than anywhere else.

The immortal Prince laid his books upon the table with another sigh, exhaled this time, and let his gaze travel around to stare wistfully out of the large bay window. It went only half way. A familiar item propped up against the far wall froze his attention in place, and he could not help but swallow nervously. Saeldur's switch. The cruel implement that was to blame for the three livid lines beneath his clothing. Biting on his lip, Thranduil walked hesitantly towards the thin piece of wood and lifted it carefully into his hands.

Although long and sturdily cut, it was slim enough to make a swishing noise as it flew through the air to meet its intended target. It tapered off into a small point at the end, perfect for inflicting stinging amounts of damage. Without realising that he had raised a hand, Thranduil touched his chest as he had done back in the dining room. The pain had faded slightly since then. He supposed he was lucky that a greater assault had not been forced upon him, if lucky was a word that could be given to an Elf in his situation. He wanted to break the switch, to snap it in two and throw away the pieces. A few months ago, he would have done just that without pause for thought. But then, he had not been afraid of his own cousin a few months ago.

As his fingers curled around the length of wood with a sudden burst of fierce determination, a shadow fell across him from behind and he spun swiftly. He knew it would be Saeldur's green eyes he met, but that did not stop his heart from sinking drastically. The dark haired Elf standing tall above him held out one hand without a word. The switch was placed in his hand with quiet obedience, and he used the tip of it to point to his student's chair.

"Sit." His gaze was cold as he watched the child's swiftness to carry out the order. "I see you found my toy."

"I am sorry," Thranduil began. "I didn't mean to-

"You meant to. Why do Elflings say that? 'I did not mean to'. Of course you did, otherwise you would not have interfered and we would not be having this conversation. If you like it so much, keep it at your side." Neither the implication nor Saeldur's icy smile was lost on the boy. He bit hard on his lip, remembering a second too late that his relative disliked the action. "How many times must I remind you against doing that? Do you enjoy testing my nerves?"

"No."

"You make me wonder at times." Laying the switch down upon the table with deliberate care, Saeldur sat opposite his young cousin and leafed through a leather bound book until he found the page he wanted. "Numbers today. Not your favourite area of study, nor the one at which you most excel. Be careful. Listen carefully and you will not make mistakes."

Thranduil nodded, silently determined that he would prove his tutor wrong and produce better work today than his capabilities usually permitted. His attention did not stray. He listened carefully and intently, absorbing every single word so that he could call upon the knowledge stored in his head when tested on it. Instructions came hard and fast. Perhaps another student would have struggled, but he was clever enough to gain full understanding of this new mathematical concept without having to request a further explanation. When quiescence finally fell, the young Elf Prince allowed himself a flash of a smile, there and gone again so swiftly as to be imperceptible. He could do this. He knew it.

"Make a start on these questions," Saeldur said, passing his book across the table. "You have ten minutes; that should be enough. Work quietly."

Giving another nod of his blond head, Thranduil pulled a bound sheaf of parchment towards him and began scribbling down flawless answers with a confidence rarely exhibited where numbers were concerned. He would have to pay this much attention more often, he reflected, pausing to dip his quill into the inkwell sitting close by. He smiled again, inaudibly congratulating himself on defeating the obvious plot to catch him out with advanced work. Of course he would never like studying with his cousin, but he always felt a thrill of pleasure when he knew that Saeldur had no reason to punish him and he could mark one up to himself.

As he lowered his pen back to rest just an inch above the parchment, the child's heart suddenly plummeted painfully in a steady downwards direction, and the smile gracing his fair features swiftly became an expression of shocked disbelief. He could not think. His mind seemed frozen in time and space, immovable, devoid of all abilities. The confidence in which he had basked just moments ago was replaced by sheer panic, and he cursed himself for his cocksure attitude. So possessed had he been by the belief that he knew what he was doing, true understanding of the equations swimming before his eyes was gone. It was as though the pause for more ink had erased everything.

"Are you well?"

Startled by his cousin's enquiry, Thranduil looked up and nodded far too swiftly for it to be an honest gesture. He lowered his eyes once more, their bright blue irises wild as he sought desperately the ability to complete this task without fail. If he could do that, he could leave the lesson free from new hurts. He could not bear to have fresh marks upon the ones given to him just that morning. _Valar, please help me. Let me remember. I am trying so hard, but I just can't... _Thinking so fearfully and pushing his brain to such extremes was painful. There was nothing for it but to drop his quill with a reluctant sigh of acceptance that it was over.

"What is it?" Saeldur asked quietly. "Surely you cannot have finished already."

"No. I have some questions left to answer, but I don't know how to... I cannot think how to come out with the solutions. I got ahead of myself," Thranduil admitted. He could not see any point in trying to hide the truth. "I worked too fast, and now I have no idea how to finish."

"I see. You need my help?"

The boy tried once more to conjure a lost understanding of his mathematical problems, but the attempt was a futile one. "Yes, please," he murmured. He hated that. Admitting he needed help was dislikeable enough, but doing so to his cousin... He shuddered inwardly as the dark haired Elf gave a smile and moved closer to study the incomplete work.

"Let me see what you have accomplished thus far. The first six questions have been answered to exacting standards. They are faultless," Saeldur observed, nodding slowly. "I would be pleased at any other time, but something concerns me. How is it that you have done so well but can go no further? Surely you have not expended all your mind's energy on these few equations?"

"No, I don't-

"Dear me. It must be pure idleness, then." The Prince Regent sighed almost sadly, leaning back in his chair with a shake of his head. "I cannot help you when I know your motives are not genuine. Continue, please. Finish swiftly and I shall forget this."

Thranduil wanted to protest, but he conjured up a fresh wave of determination as his fingers found the quill once more and moved it towards the parchment. It hovered there like a bee seeking honey, waiting for an answer that would never come. There was only silence, heavy around the desperate child as he was forced to accept for the second time that he had to surrender. "I can't do it," he insisted, his voice just a hum above a whisper. "I don't know how to."

"Fine. That is fine, but your father will be angry and your mother disappointed when I inform them of this poor attitude. Why would you want that? We both know what happened the last time the King lost his temper with you," Saeldur said meaningfully, briefly touching the belt around his waist. "Never mind, it shall be as you wish. Close that book and we will move on to something else."

"What? No, that would not be fair," Thranduil defended, jumping to do so swiftly. "I want to understand this work again. All I need is a reminder. Please. I am not being idle or careless or anything else. Why won't you help me?"

"Because I will not be fooled," the royal tutor snapped. "Now close that book!"

"No, I cannot. My old teacher always encouraged me to tell him when I was confused, that way we could work through it together. He knew that the best way to defeat a lack of understanding was to confront it, but you just... You are wrong," Thranduil shot back, temper getting the better of him in spite of everything he knew about his cousin. "You think yourself to be knowledgeable and wise, but how can that be when you don't care for any of this? You try and make me believe I am a bad student; you have succeeded in convincing my parents of that. But it is you! You are a bad tutor!"

"Have you finished?"

Breathing heavily after his furious tirade, and partly out of apprehension for the consequences of his words, Thranduil slammed his book shut and pushed it to the far side of the table. "Yes."

The single word came out cold and hard, and Saeldur considered in silence for a moment before moving his chair back and rising to pace up and down. He had traversed the room three times when he paused at the slightly open window and pulled it shut, the action nothing more than the smallest of hindrances to his journey. He continued to walk for a while longer, knowing full well the affect his drawn out movements would have on his cousin. It was not until his fifth stately lap of the room that he stopped by the table and picked up the switch lying apparently abandoned. Cerulean eyes flashed fearfully in a young face that had been brave just moments ago as realisation hit. Saeldur just smiled.

"What did I say to you about making mistakes?" he purred silkily. Without waiting for an answer, he outstretched slender fingers. "Give me your hand. We shall get this over with quickly."

"No," Thranduil whispered, hiding both hands behind his back.

"You can refuse me for as long as you care to, but it will be worse for you. My advice – take it or do not – would be to do as you have been told," Saeldur warned. "Or would you prefer to keep me waiting?"

As though forced into movement by an outside power, the Elfling laid his arm atop the table, his palm facing upwards. "No," he gasped again. "You cannot! The marks you gave me earlier are easily hid, but these will be visible to everyone. And it doesn't matter what my father said about giving you permission to discipline me, I know he would never trust you to-

"Stop talking," Saeldur whispered.

Thranduil tried in vain to pull his wrist back, but the iron grip of his cousin holding him in place rendered escape an impossible notion. No verbal response was coming his way. None was needed. His question was answered as his tunic sleeve was pulled far up his arm, revealing the flawless pale hue of his skin. He tried to jerk wildly away, silently cursing the unavoidable fact that he was so much younger and smaller than the Elf who empowered him with such careless ease.

"Nobody will see a thing if you keep your wits about you and your arms covered," the Prince Regent said quietly. "You must stop underestimating me. I think these things _through_."

His switch struck hard against the child's forearm, emphasising his final word with a resounding crack. Thranduil's body instinctively reacted. He jerked upwards with a soft cry of pain, unused to such force being used on his bare flesh, but the clamp on his wrist did not lessen. A further five times he was hit in quick succession, each stroke ruthless and without mercy. The long piece of wood left splinters in his skin that stung awfully as they were pushed deeper. He tried so hard not to cry or show any signs of weakness, but his vision was blurred and no amount of blinking would banish the tears. Saeldur's arm came down again and again, attacking the same spot repeatedly until the tender whiteness metamorphosed to red, before moving to another part of the trembling arm. When Thranduil dared to bite his lip or try and protect himself with his other hand, the enraged Elf would let his cruel implement slam against the thin layer of skin which covered the elbow and separated the forearm from the upper. He noted with vague interest that a crimson colour was swifter to arrive there than anywhere else, and his helpless victim was unable to keep from crying openly.

Time became a non-existent thing. Thranduil had no idea for how long the torture went on, but it seemed as unending as a black chasm devoid of light or measurable depth. There was a single corner of the Prince's mind that had retained conscious thought and clarity, and it told him that they had reached a milestone that announced a horrifying truth. His eyes had burnt with tears on a few occasions since the first night out in the rain when his cousin had raised a hand to him, but he had never before broken down and been reduced to a terrified and sobbing wreck. The pain had never been so awful. Grief had never taken hold of him with such iron claws. He knew now that there was no going back. If his tormentor could do this, he could do anything. They had passed the point of no return.

* * *

**A/N: Although I don't have time right now to reply to every review individually, I'd like to say a big thank you to those of you have left feedback for this story. It is very much appreciated! I hope to have the next chapter up before Christmas, as I'm going on holiday for a week in the New Year and won't be able to post then. See you soon!**

**Emma**


	9. Desperate Measures

**A/N: **Just a quick note to let you know that the previous chapter was something like the first half of the story and the last chapter in which we see Thranduil as a small child. This chapter picks up a few years later, and he is now an adolescent.

**Chapter 9**

It was the coldest winter the kingdom of Greenwood the Great had seen since a royal family had come to rule, but an outsider would never have known it to look at the young Elf who had claimed a secluded clearing as his own for the day. The natural pale hue of his skin was slightly flushed, and strands of hair that had worked themselves loose clung to his damp forehead, finding their way back there every time he paused to brush them away. Twin blades flashed in his hands like miniature streaks of lightning. Every move was flawless, executed with perfection. The immortal was not past his majority – an adolescent, but no less a child in the eyes of the Elves – yet he fought against the air with a talent that already could match many trained warriors.

Hesitating for just a second to correct the long sleeve that was beginning to fall over his hand and obstruct his movements, Thranduil Oropherion spun on his heel and thrust both blades behind him before dropping to the cold ground to carry out a low level attack on an imaginary foe. Ending the assault with a flick of his knives that was more for show and his own satisfaction than anything else, the Crown Prince of Greenwood leapt to his feet and whirled around, letting both blades fly through the air to land accurately on targets he had marked some distance away.

He was impassive as he walked noiselessly across the clearing, his glacial eyes seemingly uninterested in everything, even his own doings. He knew that another novice would have jumped for joy at perfecting advanced battle moves taken from watching the warriors train, but he was not that Elf. Joy had ceased to exist for him some years ago after his older cousin, the Prince Regent, had turned into a secret monster and made it his personal ambition to make the younger royal's life a hell. No-one knew the truth except torturer and prisoner, although Thranduil suspected that his relative's lady friend was in the picture too. Suspected was the wrong term. He pulled his knives free with a narrowed gaze, and slammed them into their sheaths. He would stake his very immortal life that Almiris knew. Not just that she had knowledge of the truth, but that she was a driving force too. The youth's face was hardened by thoughts of her as he turned to gather up his bow and arrows to start work on close range archery, but something held him in place. He had a spectator.

A broad shouldered Elf garbed in richly luxuriant travelling clothes of a dark blue shade was watching from a cluster of beech trees, a vague smile upon his fair features as he accepted the suspicious scrutiny from the boy. Thranduil regarded the waist length hair of jet and those deep grey eyes set in a face that was both stern and kindly, and found his mind drifting into the past. He knew this stranger. Somehow, somewhere, they had met. Tilting his head to one side and folding both arms across his chest, he arched an eyebrow elegantly. His gaze was not welcoming.

"Greetings."

"To you too," the newcomer nodded politely. "I intended to ask which part of the army you serve under until you turned and showed me your face for longer than a second. You cannot be past your majority."

Thranduil gave the briefest shake of his head. "No. Warriors must be lacking in height where you come from, for you to make such a grave error. I am a mere novice, and will remain so for the next few years. From where _do _you hail? You are neither Silvan nor Sindar."

"That is so." If the changed course of discussion caught the dark haired Elf off guard, he revealed nothing. "Forgive me for noticing this, but your tone is not what I would consider moderate. Do you often speak so to elders?"

"Was I disrespectful?"

"Nay. Just abrupt."

The Elven youth looked away, and nodded slowly. "It was not intentional. I prefer solitude to the company of others, and I use this glade because it is so secluded that I am rarely disturbed. Your presence frustrated me, if you want the truth in blunt form. I would rather you had happened upon another clearing and another Elf."

"Thank you for your honesty," the stranger said wryly. "Would you like me to leave?"

"If you don't mind."

"It shall be so." Hiding a smile, he stepped out of the long shadows conceived by the trees. In the light, it was revealed that he was still quite young for an immortal, just a handful of centuries older than Greenwood's Prince Regent. "Before I go, perhaps you will accept some praise for your talents. Few of your age are so skilled. Your teacher must be the best to be found."

"He is." Thranduil hesitated, as though debating with himself how much to reveal to this stranger. "Most of what you saw I taught myself, although I do not tell you that to make a good impression. I care not what your thoughts of me are. As a novice, there are some advanced manoeuvres that I should not yet know. I have to hide those from the weapons master and the other trainees. The kingdom has no real need for an army, but it is still quite strict."

The ebony haired Elf nodded in quiet understanding. "I see. Your demonstration was not entirely flawless, though. Two mistakes were made, the first being a failure to concentrate on your surroundings as well as the battle. That was how you missed my appearance. The second error was your reaction to the sleeve which fell over your hand. It was a distraction, and even a moment's distraction can be costly. Remember those points, and do something about your shirt if it is too large and you intend to train in it."

"Thank you, but I did not ask for help," Thranduil said coolly. "You may be my elder, but do you have any idea who I am?"

"Who you are? Indeed I do. You are a young boy who should be running through the forest with his friends, but instead you choose solitude and put yourself through a punishing regime," the other Elf murmured, his grey eyes suddenly sorrowful. "Whenever you can, I deem. You are cold and stoical, speaking to me as though you are older than your years. You remain a child in body, but something within you grew up a long time ago. I look into your face and I am met with a mask. You wear it to protect yourself, maybe to keep a secret. In spite of that, you are desperate to reveal that which you hide. There is no other reason for you to tell a stranger that you like to be alone rather than with other Elves. I wonder if you are afraid-

"Stop," Thranduil hissed.

"Do I guess correctly?"

The young immortal threw his gaze away, already shaking his head as the question was voiced. "You don't know me; you don't know anything of what you speak," he lied. "You sound as though you are some sort of prophet or seer, but your foresight is wrong. I hope you don't intend to make a living by reading what you cannot see."

"No. And as for me not knowing who you are, the same can be said for you." Raising an eyebrow, the older Elf pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a gust of wind blew through the clearing. "Get yourself back home to the palace, Elf Prince. It is an important day. Your father would not approve of lateness."

"How do you...?" Thranduil caught himself mid-sentence, and spun on his heel to flee the glade and find the horse he had left roaming some distance away. It was an important day for Greenwood – or at least for the King – for emissaries and nobles from other Elven realms were arriving in the woodland kingdom for talks and meetings. He had to be present with the rest of the royal family to greet them in the courtyard. The Valar only knew how it had escaped his mind. He had been reminded enough times.

Sprinting almost noiselessly on a winding forest path, the Prince kept his eyes sharpened for any sign of his chestnut gelding through the gaps in the trees. Tamris usually stayed where he was told, but he was also as free spirited as his owner and had a tendency to stray at times. Birds broke away from a hiding place high off the wintery ground, and Thranduil glanced skywards to watch their progress as he rounded a corner. Immediately, a sickening stench of something cloyingly sweet assaulted his senses. He ground to a halt, stunned into immobility by the terrible scene before him that he saw blindingly clear but could not see with any true understanding. His eyes widened in horror.

"You wish to marry?"

Prince Regent Saeldur glanced briefly at the woman standing silently at his side, before directing his green gaze back towards his uncle and father. Both King and King's brother were watching him with similar expressions of what he thought might be irritation. "That is correct. Almiris and I have been courting for a long time – at least, it feels as such to us. I know that to Elves it is no great amount of time, but... We thought it best to approach you with this, but neither of you appear even interested."

"How could we not be?" Lord Vehiron asked his son quietly. "It is not a small matter."

"But it is something of an inconvenience today," Oropher sighed.

"The visit from the other realms. Yes, I understand that and am sorry for adding an additional burden to the family's shoulders. We just thought it would be the perfect time to announce a royal wedding," Saeldur pressed eagerly. "Perhaps we were wrong to wait until the last moment, but think of it. Adar, Uncle Oropher... You could make a great announcement at the end of the visit. It would be perfect, for you as well as us. There has to be political gain somewhere in it."

The King looked sideways at his perplexed brother, silently wondering the same questions of how and why. "I truly wish that we could grant you this, nephew, but it has come at the wrong time. Either you should have waited or spoken up earlier."

"Would you have agreed then?"

"It makes no difference, Saeldur! You are the Prince Regent, second in line to the throne. You have far more duties and obligations to think of than..." Inhaling sharply, raven haired Vehiron turned away from the younger Elf and gazed upon the still silent maiden. "Allow me to ask a question of you, and forgive me if it seems forward. Are you with child?"

Almiris visibly started at the words, but her swift recovery was commendable. "No, that is not why we stand before you. I am somewhat insulted that you would think our reasons to be anything but what they are, my Lord. I love your son and he loves me in return. All we wish is to seal that love by bonding. Can that be so wrong?"

"You would become royalty," Oropher said slowly, leaning forwards and resting his chin in the palm of one hand, a contemplative gesture. "You may have been with Saeldur for the greater part of his time in the forest, but still you cannot begin to imagine the impact such a change will have. You do love him, of that I am not doubtful. But I cannot help wondering if your love is enough to see you through a royal life. Nothing will be the same. Ever."

"Your wife's love seems enough," Almiris murmured. "Why should mine not be, Your Highness?"

The Elven ruler raised his green eyes towards the ceiling, silently debating how to escape the corner into which he had been backed. It was a fair question. He chose to avoid it altogether. "Whilst the final decision would rest with Vehiron were our familial circumstances different, I have the last word here. No mention will be made outside of this room until our guests have returned to their homes, then we shall discuss..."

Quiescence fell as Oropher's keen hearing picked up external noises. He could hear light footsteps coming steadily closer, a familiar voice raised in a great breach of protocol and etiquette, worried exclamations from the guards stationed at the end of the corridor; all of the sounds coalesced into a frantic song for just moments until his office door flew open to slam against the wall, and he jumped to his feet with a tongue lashing ready for his errant son. All words died on his lips. He could only stare in stunned shock at the red stains that had flowered on the tunic worn by his only child, rooted to the spot as the bloody marring of pale skin blurred his vision. He felt rather than saw his brother go to the youth's side. He was too dazed for conscious thought.

"What...what happened?" he managed in a whisper.

"This is animal blood," Vehiron said quietly, sniffing at the air. "Not his."

The words sent a powerful wave of relief through Oropher, and he strode around the desk to firmly grip his son's shoulders. He had suffered a moment of being a terrified father, but control was his once more as he directed the Prince's gaze upwards to meet his. "Tell me what happened," he pressed urgently.

"Ask her," Thranduil hissed, gesturing violently towards Almiris.

Although the monarch's eyes flickered in the direction of the startled maiden, he tightened his hold and gave his child a brief shake. "No, I am asking you," he insisted. "Talk to me, penneth. Explain this to me."

"It...it is my horse. I left him waiting for me whilst I went to practice with my knives a little way into the forest. I was gone for no more than an hour. Just an hour." Thranduil's words floated to his father, but his glistening pools of ice were fixed on his cousin's beloved, melting with contempt. "I returned to find him because I knew that I was needed here to greet our guests, and he... Tamris is dead, Adar. His throat was cut open."

"Wolves?" Lord Vehiron murmured, watching sadly as the one golden head in the room bowed swiftly to hide grief.

"Wolves in daylight?" Oropher countered uneasily.

"Adar, I did not say that his throat was torn. It was _cut_. I have hunted forest animals, and I know what a blade does," Thranduil snapped. He seemed to have forgotten that he was surrounded by elders, not to mention his own King and father. "I knew this would happen. It always does. I try and tell you something because I need your help, but you never believe me. Even now, you look for an excuse. The proof is here! On me, out in the forest where Tamris still lies in a pool of blood. Go and look, _please_. Wolves are not guilty for this."

"Calm yourself," Oropher chided, although the words were not unkind. They would have been hard at any other time, but he could not recall the last time he had seen his often impassive son so distressed. "Now tell me, if a creature of the woods is not to blame for your horse's death, who is? How could it have happened? Did you meet anyone who witnessed anything suspicious?"

"I met no-one on the way back," Thranduil replied quietly. "But I know who did it."

"Tell me."

"It was her."

Saeldur stepped forwards furiously as his young cousin pointed a shaking finger at Almiris. "Wait just one minute. You cannot storm in here whilst we are having a private discussion and accuse her without any proof. I understand that you are upset, but nothing excuses this. She was with me during the time frame you gave, so there is immediate disproval of your theory."

"No, it tells me that you were in on the murder too!" Thranduil hissed. He turned his enraged gaze upon the maiden, and shook his head in disgust. "You evil, _evil _witch. You were not content with stealing the Elf I loved like a brother all those years ago, you had to do this too. Why? Is it because I know the truth that everyone else in Arda seems blind to? That your heart is as black as Sauron's?"

"I do not-

"You killed him!"

The Crown Prince pulled himself away from his father's grasp, and leapt towards Almiris like a cat pouncing on a mouse. He didn't know why, he didn't know what he could possibly do to her, he didn't know why he was inviting in a long and painful punishment from his cousin when all of this was over. All he knew was that she had cut his horse's throat without reason, and he had to vent the rage and grief that were so powerful inside of him. Saeldur tried to intercept him, but he took advantage of a dodging movement he had been taught by his weapons master, and continued towards the woman with sapphire fire in his eyes.

Almiris' violet orbs were wide with fear, and she backed away as far as she was able to before hitting the wall. But it was not enough to protect her. Thranduil grabbed the front of her dress, the blood from his hands staining the silken material, flying off his fingers to land on her alabaster skin. Although she was taller than the Elven youth, she could not fight him off, nor could she rely on any of her otherworldly powers in the presence of those who did not know. All she could do was cry out in abject horror and hope that someone would come to her rescue.

"Get off her!"

Saeldur's shouts went unheeded by Thranduil as he fought with the woman, as he screamed oaths and curses at her in a manner that was forbidden to any child of the Elves, let alone a royal one. But it was over as swiftly as it had begun. His father and uncle had come forwards, and they were dragging him away from her, pulling him to the other side of the room so that he could not reach her. Guards had run into the office, alerted by the sounds of violence, and he found himself being thrown into their iron grips. _No! This is unfair! _His raging emotions did not let him stop to consider that he had only been pushed from Oropher and Vehiron because the tunic and leggings of the soldiers were less restrictive than the long robes of the royals.

"Let go of me!" he hissed, struggling against the strong hands clamped on his shoulders.

With a noise of fury, Saeldur swung around and raised his hand above the boy's face. Oropher instinctively moved forwards to try and block the blow, but it had already fallen. The Prince Regent struck with such force that as Thranduil's head snapped to the side, blood dripped from his suddenly split lip. In a daze, he felt himself being dragged away from the guards and shaken violently. He was only dimly aware of the angry noises coming from his father and uncle as they advanced to stop the treatment.

"How dare you?" Saeldur snarled. "How _dare _you?"

"That is enough!" Vehiron snapped, pushing his son backwards.

Oropher's hands tangled in the material of his own child's bloody tunic, preventing him from going back to Almiris. "What is the meaning of this? I know that the both of you are upset, but this is no way to behave. Explain yourselves!"

"I will not, my Lord!" Saeldur replied furiously. "Look at what he has done!"

The King turned his eyes upon Almiris, and they narrowed as he took in her wretched appearance. Her dress was torn in places, coloured red by the sticky horse's blood from her attacker's hands. Upon her beautiful face were flecks of crimson that she rubbed at in revulsion, but that only seemed to spread them instead of remove them from sight. She appeared too shocked to be able to cry, yet her bright eyes glistened with tears nonetheless. With her dishevelled hair and ragged clothing, she was a far cry from her usual pristine self.

"You should not have struck your cousin, Saeldur. Nothing excuses that, but you have been an adult for a long time now and unfortunately that prevents either myself or your father punishing you as we would an Elf under his majority. You will apologise later for this," Oropher ruled quietly. But then he looked towards Thranduil, and his eyes hardened slightly. "Despite my disapproval of all that has happened here, your behaviour has disgusted me. You were wrong to accuse Almiris without any proof."

"Without proof?" the blond haired Prince repeated incredulously. "Adar, I do have proof. More than enough."

Almiris gasped as Thranduil pulled a blood stained ring out from his pocket. She had given it to Saeldur a few days ago as a symbol of their love, but before that, she had proudly worn it herself. A beautiful band of a material reminiscent of _mithril_, passed down through the family from her grandmother, everyone noticed and commented on the sparkling beauty. The King and his family had been no exceptions. They knew full well it was hers. No-one had yet been told that she had gifted it to her love.

"No," Saeldur whispered. _I was wearing it this morning, I know I was. __But then...__Valar.__ It must have fallen from my finger. _

"The ring was lying beside the body of my horse, Adar," Thranduil said quietly. "I recognised it, and knew instantly that _she _had been there."

Oropher whipped his gaze towards Almiris. Although it was blazing, his voice was soft. "What do you have to say for yourself? Do you have any defence? Can you deny that you are guilty?"

"My Lord, I..." The maiden shook her head in disbelief, shocked at the turn of events. "I do not know _what_ to say."

"The truth would be a fine place to start," Thranduil snapped.

The King's hand tightened on his son's shoulder. "If you have nothing to say, you can get out of my sight. This will be investigated, and you should prepare yourself to be put on trial and judged. Go, and do not show your face near my family until you are proven innocent."

"Uncle, no!" Saeldur protested. "This is unjust. It is not her fault, I-

"Silence," Vehiron hissed.

"I will accept the consequences for my actions," Almiris said quietly, shooting the Prince Regent a look of warning. "I only hope that you can forgive me."

"Go."

As the maiden curtseyed and left the office, followed by both the guards and Lord Vehiron, Saeldur turned to face his uncle. "Please, you cannot do this. She is not guilty. Deep down, you must know that."

"I know that her ring was found by the horse's body. Is that not enough?" Oropher asked frostily. "You will not see that woman again unless she is found to be innocent. If I find that you have disobeyed that order, you will be placed under house arrest with_out _dispute. Is that understood?"

"We were going to marry," the Prince Regent whispered. "We were going to marry!"

"Is that understood?"

Saeldur nodded once, before turning his furious gaze upon his silent cousin. "If she is found guilty of this crime, I swear by the Valar, I swear by Eru himself that I will never forgive you."

As the raven haired Elf pushed past him to stride out of the office, Thranduil flinched at the contact. He felt himself being led to a chair before the desk and gently but firmly guided into it, yet he did not realise any of it was happening until the soft material of a sleeve began dabbing at the cut marring his lower lip. He looked up, searching the older immortal's eyes for clarification that his father was not angry with him. Oropher would not meet his gaze until he spoke. When he did, his voice was little more than a shaky whisper.

"Ada?"

The King paused in his ministrations. His son had stopped calling him that a few years ago. "Yes."

"It was not my intention to upset Saeldur."

"Of course not, but I think it was inevitable," Oropher replied. "You did attack the woman he loves, and that is not something he will forget for a long time. All the same, his reaction was wrong. He should not have raised his hand to you, no matter how taken by anger he was. Rest assured that I will be speaking to him when he has calmed down."

"You need not do so," Thranduil said quietly. "I do not want to cause further trouble for you. I fear that I have done enough, especially with the emissaries from other realms visiting this week."

"Ion-nín, I understand that you are distressed. I am aware too that you were struck by rage and grief when you flew at Almiris, but you should have fought to control yourself," Oropher continued, his voice low. "It is a crime in my kingdom to assault a lady, whether the attacker is fully grown or still an adolescent."

At the words, the young Prince looked up and held his father's gaze. It was more disappointed than anything else, and he released a barely audible sigh at the guilt which threatened to overpower him. "I know that, Adar. But I do not regret doing it, and I will accept any consequences for my actions. However, my lessons in law have taught me that if she is guilty, I may avoid being punished at the discretion of the King. Is that not so?"

Delaying any reply, a female servant entered the office and curtseyed to the royals. She held a bowl of steaming water in one hand, a warm towel in the other. "Your Highness, Lord Vehiron alerted me to the situation. I have brought materials for your son to wash his hands."

"Thank you. I appreciate the gesture," Oropher nodded. He was silent as the maiden placed both items on his desk, and waited until she had left and closed the door behind her before speaking once more. "Saeldur has taught you well. If Almiris is found guilty, I will waive the punishment as law decrees. If she is innocent, you will pay for that with twenty lashes before the people of Greenwood. Do you understand that? Do you accept that I would have to pass that judgement, that it is a part of the law?"

"I do."

The dark haired ruler took his son's hands, and started to wash away the horse's blood with a tenderness that was rarely seen. He noticed they were still shaking. "I am sorry. This should not have happened to you. It is easy for a master to form a strong bond with his animal, and I know that you were close to Tamris."

"You gave him to me as a gift," Thranduil replied quietly. "My first thought was that you would be angry with me."

"Never with you," Oropher sighed. "Not for this."

"I just do not understand why that _witch _has committed such a hateful act. It is not a secret that she and I are anything but friends, but she should not have... If she wanted to hurt me, there are other ways to do that without taking an innocent life. Valar, I speak as though Tamris was another Elf rather than a horse. But it is still murder. Isn't it? What she has done is still a crime. He should not have paid for..." Thranduil blinked away the tears that were stinging his eyes, but some fell nonetheless. "It is unfair, Ada."

"It always is. Life can be as cruel as it can be kind, and you will learn that in time." Oropher pushed the bowl of water away as he finished washing his son's hand, making a point not to look at the horrible crimson colour the liquid had become. "Your tunic is stained, penneth. Go to your room and get ready for the arrival of our guests this afternoon. I cannot put Almiris on trial whilst they are here. I am sorry, but it will have to wait. The moment they have left, I will judge her. There will also be some very serious talks about why you hate her so much. Some things will have to change, whatever the outcome of the investigation."

Nodding in silent agreement, Thranduil turned towards the door. "Thank you for believing me," he said almost inaudibly.

Without waiting for an answer, he left and took the path to his private rooms in the royal wing. The journey had never seemed so long. Word of the dramatic events in Oropher's office must have spread like wildfire through the palace, for not a single Elf he passed let their eyes rest on him for any more than a few seconds. He kept his own gaze lowered on the carpet moving beneath his feet, but the blood red hue of it made him nauseous. Everywhere he looked, he saw red. Red tapestries, red murals, red vases, a world of redness that spun madly around him. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Thranduil broke into a run and did not stop until he was safely closeted in his room, with his back pressed hard against the door to prevent it being opened from the other side. His chest rose and fell swiftly as ragged breaths flew from his lips. It was almost as though he was crying, but he had done that alone in the forest. It would not happen again.

He stood unmoving for a long while, his eyes still closed; they remained so even when he stirred to work on the silver clasps of his tunic. He dared not look at the blood stained material, because he knew that sight would push him over the edge once more and all control would be lost. Jerking the shirt over his head and throwing it to the other side of the room, he felt the first threatening waves of sickness make themselves known once more. He had not held his breath with the removal of his tunic, and a horrible metallic smell assaulted his senses. He hissed in disgust and stalked to the separate washroom to scrub viciously at his chest until all trace of blood was banished into history. The force with which he cleaned himself left marks upon the ones given to him a few days ago by his cousin, but the pain was worth it. He had to be free of that filth.

"I have to be," he whispered.

Leaning forwards to briefly rest his forehead against the cool surface of a wall mirror, Thranduil's eyes flickered shut for just a moment before he pushed himself away and left the washroom. He headed straight for the wardrobe, and pulled out at random a tunic to replace the stained one he had disposed of. He doubted that he would ever wear it again, no matter how invisible the blood was. A soft sigh left his lips, and he sank onto the edge of the bed with his head in both hands. Almiris was guilty. The last time he had been courageous enough to rightfully accuse another Elf of a crime, not a single individual had believed him. He had been just an Elfling, and his apparent lies had earned him a beating from his own father. That had been enough to make him wonder, for a time, if he had been deluded all along. Nothing could convince him of that now. His horse's throat had been deliberately cut by Almiris, and he would hold to that through everything – even twenty lashes, if it came to it.

There came a knock at the door, and the young Prince rose with a long exhalation of breath. He barely saw the servant bow to him with an averted gaze; he nodded automatically at the news that the first of his father's guests were due to arrive within minutes, and was he well enough to attend the courtyard? It sounded as though he had been given a choice, but he was not an Elf to hide away. He did not want sympathy from anyone. Holding his head high, Thranduil followed the member of serving staff to the front of the palace, backtracking the path he had taken from his father's office just minutes before. This path was no shorter, but it seemed to be so. He arrived at the large front doors sooner than he wanted, and breathed deeply before pushing them open.

He expected both his uncle and cousin to be absent, but that did not stop him from silently thanking the Valar. He could face Vehiron, but Saeldur would be too much for him today. Stepping lightly down the steps and walking across the courtyard as though nothing had happened, Thranduil surreptitiously searched his parents' faces as he came closer to them. Oropher looked at him with a brief nod, nothing more. Felith smiled and let her fingers alight briefly upon the youth's cheek as a gesture of tenderness. Somehow, she could not yet know the truth. He wondered if that was perhaps better for today, but she would have to be told sooner or later.

"Did you have a good morning with your weapons practice, darling?" she asked gently.

"Yes. Thank you, Naneth." His reply was almost perfunctory, and he gave a quick smile to keep his mother from questioning the apparent lack of interest. "I know another manoeuvre."

"Lovely. You will have to show me," Felith suggested.

Thranduil looked away with a non-committal nod. He felt the appraising eyes of his father on him, but he did not trust himself to meet them without making mention of the day's incidents thus far. Instead he focused his attention on the tall gates at the far end of the courtyard, waiting in silence for the arrival of the visitors. Nothing happened for nearly two minutes other than soft breezes and the swaying of branches in the wind, but then hoof beats cut into the quiet, bringing the gathered Elves up sharply in anticipation. A group of some ten horses came into view, slowing from a canter to a sedate pace as their iron shoes hit the hard surface of the paved stones. Most of their riders were clothed in the dark blue livery that announced soldiers from the army of Lindon, but a few elaborately garbed individuals, clearly nobles, dismounted to bow before the royal family.

"King Oropher, Queen Felith," a raven haired Elf greeted smoothly. "It is a pleasure to finally arrive in your realm."

As his parents exchanged niceties, Thranduil's head shot up and he could not help staring at the newcomer who had spoken. It was him. It was the stranger from the forest. _'Oh Valar,' _he thought, frustration tinting his hidden words. _'What else will go wrong today?'_

"Your arrival has been most anticipated, Lord Elrond. Is High King Gil-galad far behind?" Oropher questioned.

"Snows in the mountain passes have barred his way. If they clear, he and his party should be here within the next few days. If not, they will have no choice but to turn around and return to Lindon. We thought it courteous to ride ahead and inform you of the unexpected delay. As his herald, it is only natural for me to attend the meetings in his stead until he can be here," the Half-elf explained. He paused, and the deep pools of his eyes shifted towards the blond haired youth standing a short distance in front of him. "Ah, this must be your son. I am pleased to meet you, Prince Thranduil."

"The feeling is mutual," Thranduil managed, only just succeeding in keeping his voice steady. "But we...we met-

"Some years ago, yes. You were much smaller then," Elrond smiled. "I am surprised that you recall a time so long past."

Lowering his eyes, the Prince nodded in quiet understanding and gratitude. At least he had been saved from having to inform his parents that he had already insulted one of their esteemed guests. "My memory must be far-reaching," he murmured. "The scenes are somewhat hazy, though. Were your travels without trouble?"

"They passed without event."

Oropher gave his son a brief smile, the only secret indication of his pride that the boy had looked past his sadness to hold polite conversation with the visitors. "Now that you have arrived safely, let your horses be stabled whilst you are shown to your rooms. A meal has been prepared for you. It will be ready whenever you wish to eat. Unless you wish to rest this afternoon, perhaps my wife and I can show you our realm. It is not quite what you are accustomed to, but..."

As the Sindarin King continued to speak and led the guests away, Thranduil drifted a step back, waiting until he was alone before turning on his heel and leaving the courtyard at a run. He had read his father's look for what it was - approval - but it was also a sign that he was no longer needed. That suited him just fine. He was used to playing the role of perfect heir to the throne, but that day would see him failing miserably. His mind would not stop drifting towards Almiris, Saeldur, Tamris. At the thought of his dead gelding, the Prince's throat tightened and his vision blurred. He wanted to search for the woman he had accused and confront her without anyone to hold him back, but his better judgement spoke up swiftly and reminded him that he needed as many allies as possible, if she was to be found guilty of the crime. Going after her would do him no favours.

Veering left off the forest path, he removed his twin knives from his belt and twirled them in an attempt to divert his attention from the many tumultuous emotions raging through him. The blades had been a gift from Oropher a few years ago on his Begetting Day, and were his most prized possessions. When he was unable to keep them close by, he made a point of hiding them lest Saeldur suddenly decided to follow through on the threat he often made of destroying them. That was a fairly recent development in the Prince Regent's treatment of his cousin. He was beginning to realise that the physical cruelty he imparted in their lessons was slowly but surely losing its impact on the tormented youth, who had started to acquire a strong wall of resilience to much that was thrown his way. There were only so many methods of abuse that could be employed, and those undertaken by the older royal were no longer new.

As he stepped through the trees and onto the large field set aside for training the army and novice fighters, Thranduil stopped playing with his weapons and raised one hand to his eyes. It may have been winter, but the glare of the sun was no less bright for the chill that lingered in the air. He let his gaze travel around the practicing warriors until a dark haired Silvan Elf came into view, and waited for the hazel pools to flicker in recognition before taking a step forwards and offering a brief smile. "Good afternoon, Hérion," he greeted quietly.

"Is it?" Hérion looked at the sky, and nodded in slow agreement. "Valar, where has the morning gone? Have your guests arrived?"

"A party from Lindon," Thranduil shrugged.

"And I take your presence here to mean that you are not needed for the moment."

"No. Are you busy?"

Unsheathing a long blade, the Elf who played the role of weapons master to young novices and trainees shook his head briefly and led his companion across the field to an unoccupied space of grass. "Not until my next class in twenty minutes or so. I am prepared for it, so I expect there are a few moments to spare for one of my better students. Do you wish to work on anything in particular?"

"Nothing," Thranduil replied softly.

Hérion did not press for answers as he assumed a warrior's stance to begin their sparring. He had become accustomed to the Crown Prince seeking him out every once in a while, and accepted that the youth needed something to take his mind away from the difficulties of a royal life. He could only imagine what it must be like. If his pupil required some additional time aside from the normal training hours, he was more than happy to accommodate him. "Very well, we shall begin with..." Straightening slightly, the instructor tilted his head to one side. "Tell me what this is."

"What?"

"This, Elfling."

As the older immortal's blade gently touched his arm, Thranduil started in surprise as realisation came. His sleeves were hanging down over his wrists again. If he did not know that the tunics he had worn that day were his own, he would swear they had been replaced with the shirts of a taller Elf. "Sorry," he muttered quickly. "I will not let them get in the way."

"We are not moving an inch until you do something about them," Hérion chided.

Suppressing a sigh, Thranduil pulled the wayward sleeves up and tucked them underneath themselves in the hopes that would be enough to keep them from slipping during the practice fight. He did not understand why his clothes had suddenly become so loose. The change had been recognisable to his eyes nearly a month back, but now other Elves were beginning to notice after only moments of being in his company. There was only one small consolation amidst all that confusion: his mother and father yet remained unaware. That was not due to inattention on their parts, but careful planning on his to avoid being caught out and questioned. He _had _suffered a dramatic weight loss; there was no escaping that fact. The only question was why. He supposed it could be attributed to the treatment he still received at the hands of his cousin during their private lessons, but he was reluctant to place the blame there. That would lead to self-pity, and he had forbidden himself to wallow in the mire of such an emotion a long time ago.

As Hérion nodded in approval and the friendly swordplay began, Thranduil devoted everything he had. His heart and his mind and his very soul went into the dance of knives, for allowing even a sliver of his consciousness to remain in reality would drag him down. Locked inside his own private world where nothing mattered except the movements he made to defend and attack, he could forget for a short while that Tamris' throat had been cut. He did not have to remember attacking Almiris, being struck by his cousin in front of Oropher or discovering the body of his equine friend in a pool of sticky blood. None of it existed. He feinted left in an attempt to trip his opponent, but the weapons master recovered swiftly and reclaimed the upper hand by delivering a swinging blow that was easily avoided. As he parried furiously, the left sleeve of his tunic began to slip. He tried hard to ignore it, but he could see it coming close to halting the fight. Breaking free with a quick sidestep, Thranduil's hand shot out and he righted the sleeve once more. It was over and done with in a second. He could have been back in that private world as though nothing had happened, but he was met with only air when he raised his blades once more.

"Stop," Hérion commanded sharply. "Lower them."

"Why?" Thranduil questioned, unconsciously pushing at his sleeves.

The Silvan Elf's dark head shook in irritation, and he gestured towards the absent-minded action with a soft hiss. "That is why. You came unprepared today, and I will not fight with you if we have to pause every few minutes for you to correct your tunic. Not only is it an inconvenience, but it could be dangerous too. You know better than to dress in clothes that fit poorly. What if your blade or mine caught on one of those loose pieces of material? I expect these problems in the beginner classes. Go back to the palace and change."

"I...cannot do that."

"Oh?"

Thranduil wanted to look away, but he held himself higher and met the cool gaze of his instructor. "This is not the only shirt I have which is loose. I am finding that many of my clothes are suddenly ill fitting. I should be growing, but instead I seem to be shrinking."

"Indeed," Hérion nodded. He sheathed his blade, and reached out swiftly to grip the front of the youth's tunic before he could be sidestepped. What he felt beneath his fingers made his heart sink, and he pulled on the material to prove his point. It stretched further away from the lithe body than it should. "Shrinking, you jest? Is that what you truly believe? No, you are losing weight. You are losing weight quickly and drastically, and that has to stop before you damage yourself. I don't know what is going on in your mind or what has happened to bring about such a change, but whatever it may be... Tell me. Tell your mother, your father, your uncle, your cousin, a complete stranger. Tell anyone. Just get help."

"Help? I don't-

"Then, why can I feel your ribs?" Hérion whispered, pushing his hand against the boy's abdomen. "An Elf should not be this thin. What I am feeling is a sign of something else below the surface."

"Please do not touch me in that way," Thranduil said evenly. He took a step back to break the physical contact, and wrapped both arms around himself as though for protection. He knew that his weapons master meant well, but he could not risk the most recent welts delivered by Saeldur being found out. "Thank you for your concern, although you do worry for nothing. I am quite fine. Perhaps I should just eat more at the dining table."

"Perhaps it is something else altogether," Hérion countered softly. "I have been teaching children since before you were born, and I know enough to recognise by now when not all is well. Promise me that you will seek help, penneth."

The Crown Prince shook his head, and the short laugh which left his lips was one of derision. "I cannot make any such vow. I would be seeking aid for nothing. You have it wrong."

"Do I? Well, we shall see about that. Give me your weapons." As a pair of bright blue eyes narrowed in confusion at the request, Hérion nodded and held out one hand. "You heard what I said. I truly have no wish to do this, but you leave me no choice. Have your father commission new clothes that will actually fit you well until this is over, and tell him your reasons when he questions you. Someone has to know in order to help you. When that has been done, I will return your knives and you may train with me once more. Do not look at me so coldly. Give me the blades."

"This isn't-

"Now, my Prince."

Thranduil gazed hard at his instructor for close to a minute before admitting defeat and uncurling his fingers to let the weapons fall. They hit the grass almost noiselessly, but he had already spun on his heel and was striding away across the training field. If Hérion had not interrupted him, he would have protested that it was not fair. It truly was not. Grinding his teeth together and hissing like a cat, he stalked back to the palace with a face reminiscent of a stormy day in the blackest of regions. Many Elves usually greeted him with friendly words or a kind smile, but none dared even look at him as he passed. He may have been only an adolescent, but that mattered not. His eyes held enough sapphire fire to give even the bravest individual outside of the family pause for thought. When he chose to ignite the blue flames, everyone was wise to turn away.

Fury lent speed to his feet, and he found himself traversing the long corridors and hallways of the palace sooner than he expected. He gave no thought to where he was going. It was not planned out or a known destination, but somehow he ended up outside a tall wooden door that concealed a room expressly forbidden to him. In fact, only his parents and a select few Elves were permitted to ever cross the threshold. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, the youth took a step back and looked up at the large portal. He had no idea why he had gone there. Of all the places to choose, why the one that he could not enter? He shook his head and turned to leave, but the sight of a dark haired Elf held him in place. He knew that his eyes would still be like ice, and blinked slightly in an attempt to cool them.

"Wandering the palace, young Prince?"

Thranduil just smiled, unsure how to answer the question. "What of you, Lord Elrond? I heard my father say there was a meal ready for yourself and the Elves you travelled with. Have you forsaken that?"

"No. Perhaps you could point me in the right direction," the Peredhil suggested. "Where is the guests' private dining room?"

"Third floor, west wing, two doors up from the smaller library. Are you lost?" Thranduil asked, tilting his head to one side to study the older immortal. "I never stepped inside the palace of High King Gil-galad, but I remember my father once describing its size. You should find any building simple to navigate after that. Forgive me, I am keeping you. If you need further directions, feel free to ask a member of serving staff and they will show you the way."

"Thank you for your time," Elrond nodded.

As he watched the raven headed herald turn away, the young royal took a step forwards and held out one hand. "Wait...please. I am grateful to you for keeping our earlier meeting private. I can only imagine the trouble I would be in if it was known how I spoke to you. You have my thanks for helping me out of what could have become an unpleasant situation. As for the way I did address you out in the forest, it... Well, I... I am sorry. I did not know who you were. I hope my impoliteness does not cast a poor shadow on my father or the rest of the royal family. We are actually quite friendly."

"Worry not. Everyone needs their solitude on occasion. The important thing is knowing when to stop being lonely and instead seek company. Too much time alone can be unhealthy." Elrond paused, and gave the listening youth a small smile. "Perhaps I owe you an apology too. I did speak as though we have known each other for many years, and that was not my place to do so. However... I would ask that you do not forget my words. You may find some truth in them yet. Now, would you like to come with me and share in the meal? I would very much like to know you, if you will allow me."

"I..." Thranduil instinctively withdrew into himself as a line was unwittingly crossed. He did not wish to be known. He _could _not be known. "Thank you, but... I have other places to be. Another time, maybe. Thank you for the offer."

"Very well," Elrond nodded again in understanding. "Good day, Your Highness."

The Crown Prince gave a brief smile which did not touch his eyes, and watched as the older Elf left the hallway. He waited until he was alone before turning back to the door and studying it in quiet contemplation. During the conversation, his mind had been spinning furiously. The results had almost shocked him, but he had called on every ounce of impassiveness to keep his face neutral in the presence of his father's guest. He knew what he was going to do. He knew how to get out of the difficult situation brought about thanks to Hérion without involving anyone else. Drawing a long breath, Thranduil nodded in acceptance of what he was about to do. He would take a key to unlock the forbidden treasury, slip in unseen and borrow enough money to buy the new clothes himself. He tried to tell himself it would only be temporary borrowing, but an uncomfortable voice in the back of his head would not stop repeating the same thing: the son of the King had become desperate enough to resort to theft.

**TBC**

**Thank you to those who are reading and reviewing. I hope you had a great Christmas and a wonderful New Year. **

**Emma**


End file.
